


Let Me Wake to Love Again - Kathyra's Tale

by RavenSinead



Series: Transient Eternity [7]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Doctors & Physicians, F/F, First Love, Flashbacks, Healing, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Implied Mind Rape, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Love's Salvation, Mental Health Issues, Moving Past Brokenness, Sexual Content, Sibling Rivalry, Trust Issues, healing from abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 06:57:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 77
Words: 127,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4909681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RavenSinead/pseuds/RavenSinead
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world of pain, uncertainty, and tragedy, a sister will take whatever steps necessary to save the one she loves...only to find herself too late. Sometimes, your life is all that you can hope to escape with. But who heals the broken? What is powerful enough to tear down the walls of fear, bitterness, and faithlessness. The story of Kathyra of Orlais, sister of Marjolaine.<br/>Takes place during "And Treat Our Blood as Gold".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Back to the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Everything belongs to BioWare and EA.
> 
> Trigger Warning: This story focuses on the life of an original character in the Dragon Age universe, and focuses on healing from trauma. There are mentions of emotional, physical, and sexual abuse, details which might be upsetting to some readers, throughout the story. If you continue to read, please bear this warning in mind, and feel free to skip whatever passages might be troubling or disturbing.

**Kathyra**

     I struggled to remain awake; to cling to a fading consciousness. Pain spiraled up and down my side in a nauseating rhythm and I struggled to even take a sip of air. _This is bad_ , I detached myself from the situation, attempting to analyze my condition as I did the wounds and illnesses of others. _Pierced on the left side...at an upward angle. My heart is not compromised, which is a small mercy, but my lung might well be damaged._

     The pain returned with a roaring ferocity as the woman who had struck down Cassandra Pentaghast, the Right Hand of Divine Beatrix, turned her attention to me. A mercifully warm hand brushed my cheek and I closed my eyes against the onslaught of agony, focusing on the comfort of her touch.

     "Still with me?" Leliana asked, and I struggled to open my eyes, to look into the wells of peace in her gaze, to see what had so long been denied me. Friendship, companionship, concern.

     I opened my mouth to speak, but could find no words, and the shallowest of inhales fired needles through my chest. I blinked, hoping that she wound understand. Leliana reached out again, stroking my hair away from my face...the movement of her hand traced the same path as a ghost's. She cradled my head in her hands and lifted it with great care, attempting to spare me any further discomfort.

     _So deft, so practiced,_ I thought, even though her hands were stronger than any woman's I had ever known. _How can she say she is not a healer, when she has striven for nothing but to save us?_

     The cool edge of molded clay brushed my lips. "Drink." Leliana urged. "It will ease the pain and help you sleep."

     I could smell the bitterness of elfroot and I managed to conjure a grin. "I know."

     The light in the room was dim, my vision blurry, but I could see a smile cross Leliana's lips. It lit a fire in me that had nothing to do with the wound in my side or the fear in my heart. I drank the bitter liquid and struggled to swallow. When I had finished, Leliana eased my head back down onto a pillow that she had pulled from...somewhere.

     "Hush, fool." she set the cup aside, clay striking wood with a dull thud.

     There was a fragility in her movements that belied the great strength in her heart. The strength that had kept her from breaking when Cassandra tore her from her warden's side. The strength that had forgiven me when I revealed my identity...the sister of the woman who had betrayed her, locked her in hell, and had her tortured. The strength that had defeated the Right Hand in single combat. The strength that had faltered with the advent of darker dreams.

     _She is lovely...beautiful as I have never before witnessed. Marjolaine ruined all things she touched...all things. How did Leliana escape that damning embrace?_

     Using what little energy I had left, I reached up and took the former bard's hand. I could feel the scars and calluses on her fingers, badges of her skill in archery. "You...continue...to amaze." I breathed, feeling my eyes close of their own volition. "No one...heals...the physician." I mumbled old words...words that would mean nothing to her, but they thrust me backwards.

     Backwards into darker dreaming of my own...

* * *

     _"Where," Leron's voice is ice and shivers trill down my spine as his eyes flash with a glow of magic and lyrium, "did you manage to acquire this?"_

_His hands, hands that have invaded my mind and body with ruthless abandon, which have torn from me memories and innocence and blood, took the bag of gold that I held out._

_"Is that necessary information, bardmaster?" I ask, trying to control the tremors in my hands and speech. "All you need know is that the gold is clean. Untraceable."_

_He sets the bag on the table and stares at it, running his well-manicured hand through lank, stringy, unremarkable brown hair. He scratches behind his ear and my gut twists, knowing what the gesture means. As a child, homeless, alone, and hungry, I had learned. I had learned to satisfy his hungers, to indulge in his wants...to read his body._

_**Soon, it will be better. It will be over,** _ _I promise myself. **At last, I can free myself and Marjolaine. We can take what we have learned and make our own lives...and I will at last be able to remember.**_

_"That amount could keep a family fat for years." Leron grins, revealing yellowing teeth that his magic can do nothing about. "What do you want, pretty thing? Hmmm? You've never prayed at my altar before. At last," he winks, "not willingly."_

_"I...I want my freedom. Mine and Marjolaine's." I state, my voice trembling like new leaves against storm winds. "That," I indicate the bag of gold, "should be more than enough to cover the cost of anything you have done for us over the years. And more."_

_Leron rises from his seat with the agility of a cat, frightening me. I back away, knowing that he has me cornered, that the weapons I carry on my body can do nothing to protect me against magic. It is swift and ruthless and, in his hands, an instrument of absolute torture that he delights in using._

_"Don't run, pretty thing." he cautions, pouring the gold out onto the table and staring at it, running calculations through his twisted mind. "You think I don't know, you little bitch!" the slap comes before I can deflect it and my skin burns from the assault of his hand. "You think I haven't heard about one of my own running amok and earning coin on the side!? And you expect me to believe that it's **clean!?** I taught you **everything** ; you should know better than to lie to me!"_

_A wave of force slams against my shoulders, throwing me to the ground, even though Leron has not lifted a finger. Tears pool in my eyes and spill over as he walks closer and kneels down, his hand reaching out, sharp nails biting into my reddening skin as he squeezes my face._

_"I will see it, Kathyra." he leers, standing over me, the instrument of torture between his thighs beginning to stir as he exerts power and control over me. "I will see it all."_

_Purple fire arcs along his fingertips as he presses his hands against my temples. Pain follows: blinding, nauseating strikes of agony as he flaws my mind with a rusted scalpel. Memories wash to the forefront and I grab at them, cutting my hands as they slip out of my grasp and rush into his mind, letting him see, letting him feed as he gazes at the actions I have committed for my freedom. Sacrificing my soul. Whoring my body. Selling what little principles I had left to cling to. He sifts through my thoughts like a miner panning for gold, discovering the truth of my words...nothing I have earned has been marked. He will be a wealthy man, lacking for nothing, allowed to live unthreatened._

_The attack ends, leaving me breathless and hurting...while Leron gloats. He understands the expression stamped on my countenance. Fear. Panic. Dread. Pain. He knows the horror that he can visit on me with a simple touch, knowing that all he needs do to control my every thought, word, and action is threaten Marjolaine._

_**Soon, little sister, soon. I will get you away from him and he will never have the chance to harm you. You will not know my torment. I. Swear. It. **_

_Leron moves closer to me now, the lyrium sheen in his eyes turning their dirt color into something bright and terrifying. "I will take the gold." he smiles, a smile I once thought comforting, promising, helpful. "For your freedom. But, if you wish your sister free as well, I demand one thing more."_

_**Yes! Anything! Anything to be free of this! I have...I have to save Marjolaine. It has been too long; I have failed her. I have to...I have to save her.**_

_"Name it." I dare to gaze into his eyes, ignoring the pulses of pain inside my skull, the terror of having my mind split open and sundered yet again._

_Leron's hand snakes behind my head and pulls me close. His mouth covers mine and his teeth bite into my lip until I taste blood. Brutal hands with spidery fingers reach out and clutch my breasts, bruising and kneading my flesh in sick mockery of passion. Bile rises in my throat as I hear animalistic noises of pleasure humming in the back of his throat._

_I close my eyes and surrender, willing my mind to another place as he covers me with his body, drowning my senses in a wash of sick-sweet Orlesian colognes. The stench acts as a soporific and I sever myself from my own body as Leron takes what he wants. He has done this for years, but this time..._

_**...this time it will be worth it. After this time...never again.**_

* * *

     The ground beneath me lurched and heaved. Hands were on my shoulders, pressing me down. Panicked, still trapped in the dream, beneath Leron's hands, I lashed out, screaming as raw agony shredded across my chest.

     "Kathyra," a voice like cool water on a blistering day... _Leliana_... "Kathyra, stay still. Hush, now. Hush. I am here; you are safe with me, I promise."

     _Safe? With you? I remember now...you promised you would keep me safe...so did Leron._

     My frantic gasping eased, leaving a tightness in my chest that built to a wracking cough. Leliana's blue eyes filled with sympathy and a carefully masked anxiety. Nothing in them spoke of hunger, just of caring. She turned me onto my right side as I continued to cough. The taste of blood filled my mouth and I licked copper and salt from my lips as the spasm eased. Leliana's gentle hands returned me to my back and wiped away the blood.

     "What can I do?" she asked. "Kathyra, what can I do?"

     I shook my head, begging her with my eyes to understand. I needed a surgeon...or a mage. "Nothing." I rasped, swallowing down another cough.

     It would not be suppressed, however, and my body shook yet again, jostling the projectile in my side, tearing skin and rupturing veins. Blood filled my mouth again, a sickening recollection, a repressed memory that would not, in my weakened state, be denied...


	2. Blood and Betrayal

**Kathyra**

_Moonlight streams down on the cobblestone streets, painting the scene in a white-blue light. Cold comfort. I huddle into myself, rubbing my arms in desperate attempt to rid myself of the feel of Leron's flesh. The scent of him clings to me and nothing I can do will erase it. I fight every time to erase him and his memory from my body and my mind. It will not work. It never works._

_**But I am free.** A giddy sense of joy fills me at the thought as I look down the alley way and wait for my sister to meet me. **I am free as I have not been, as we have not been, in years.** _

_Memories plague me as I pace back and forth in the chill and moonlight. Memories of frigid nights spent in alleys like this one, covered in dirt, kicked to the streets by those whom I felt brave enough to beg from. The hearts of men hold no room for a young girl's tale of murder and destitution, of her parent's blood spilled for a few paltry coins. They did not care for the frantic please of a child...for the hearts of men were hard. I had learned such things at harsh, harsh hands._

_The slight scuff of leather against stone catches my attention and my heart begins to beat faster as I turn, watching a svelte silhouette move away from the wall._

_**Little sister,** my heart swells with pride as I watch her move with such grace, like a dancer born, like a noblewoman. **All of this has been worth it. The lost memory, the blood on my hands, the impurity of my body. It is worth it to see you so strong and proud, no longer shivering in the streets, eyes dulled by hunger, body drained by too many days of too little food and warmth. I did my best for you, Marjolaine...I did what I could.**_

_"Kathyra." Her voice is warm and inviting, like a hearth fire on a winter's night. "You look wretched, sister dear. Are you sleeping at all?"_

_"Not well." I step towards her, arms open for an embrace. Instead, she clasps my forearms and presses a light kiss to each cheek...a distant greeting from a girl I recall as being openly affectionate. But I have been away much more of late. There are changes I may have missed. "But those days are past me, Marjolaine. I have done it, sister. At last, I've done it."_

_Her brow rises and she twists an obsidian curl around her finger, pacing around me like a cat toying with a mouse. A small spike of fear grows in my heart, but I dismiss it. Those fears are for the world outside. They do not apply to her._

_**She is my sister. The far I feel is simply residual...because I do not believe Leron will let this be as simple as gold and services rendered. It has nothing to do with her. Nothing. **_

_"What is it you have done that make you preen with happiness, sister dear?" she asks, equal parts innocence and...malice? "What is it that has your heart acquiver like a fluttering bird?"_

_"Marjolaine," I reach out and grasp her hand, stilling her predatory circles, attempting to calm my quickening breathing, "we are free. I bought our way free of Leron this very night. We do not have to return to him. No more tasks, no more lessons, no more of this life which we have been forced to lead. I...I've a little gold tucked away, enough for us to start anew, to Leave Val Royeaux and begin our own lives."_

_Glee strikes Marjolaine's features and she wraps me in her arms, nearly lifting me from the ground in her enthusiasm. "Truly?" she asks, eager and bright. "We are truly free of this?"_

_"Yes." I shake my head in the affirmative, feeling a rush of hope in my heart like a spring found in the desert. "Yes, Marjolaine. I promise, no more days of fearing for our lives, or of ruining the fates and fortunes of others. No more daggers in the dark, no more pretending, no more masks and masquerades."_

_"Oh, Kathyra," she strokes her finger down my arm, "what did it cost you?" her eyes meet mine, our mother's green, eye like my own. It is the sole way in which one can see that we are sisters._

_"It matters little." tears choke in my throat and I smile, grateful to see her so happy, grateful that we will be allowed to leave this city that has bred our shared fall from grace. I have fallen farther than she, but that is all right. I will heal. She will never have to suffer._

_**No blood has stained your hands,** again I feel the wash of pride, of satisfaction, of **knowing** that I had kept her from Leron's more terrible orders. **Your body is still pure, Marjolaine. I have sacrificed everything, and this will make it worth every exacting cost. Every violation, every sundering of innocence...worth it. Worth. It. All. **_

_"Does it?" she inquires, taking my hands in her own, warming them. "You must have worked your fingers to the bone for this."_

_I cringe as she examines my nails and sees the flecks of stubborn blood beneath them. Blood that no water can wash away, that no sharp blade can remove. I acknowledge my guilt, but that guilt eases when I remember why that blood lingers there...for her sake. For **our** future. I pull my hands away, the impatient older sister, eager to depart from these filthy streets and the evil that walks them day by day, uncaring, insouciant as it tears apart lives and families. _

_"I said it does not matter."_

_Her soft lips take on a sullen pout. "You said it mattered little." her eyes narrow. "What I do not understand, sister, is your anxiety. Your face is drawn, your skin pale; I can feel your pulse racing beneath your skin. Why are you so eager to leave this place? It has harbored us for many years and we have been safe."_

_Her ignorance astounds me and I feel the first blush of anger tint my cheeks. I did what I could to keep her from **seeing** the levels of depravity that I reached, but I know that she witnessed **much** of it. Something is not right. _

_" **You** have been save, Marjolaine." I tell her. "Did you never wonder why? Did you never think..."_

_"Kathyra, I am **happy** here." Marjolaine spreads her hands in an encompassing gesture. "Look at the beauty of this city, the secrets that it holds, and the power within those secrets. Do these streets not sing to you as they sing to me. Do you not wish to grasp them by the throat and squeeze until that wealth is yours? Do you not wish the crown of shadows that we have been offered?"_

_Confusion ripples through me as I gaze upon a...stranger. "These streets nearly killed us, Marjolaine." I argue, feeling cold despair infuse my soul. "Or have you so quickly forgotten the months we spent living on the dregs of what was offered? Have you forgotten the near starvation, the cold and rain, the fever that nearly killed you?"_

_"That which cast us out also took us in." Marjolaine counters, her lips quirking upward in a scheming grin. "Leron has been kind and we have prospered beneath his tutelage. No matter what he said, the debt we owe him cannot be paid in gold."_

_**Prospered?** Questions swirled around me in a dizzying wave. **Kind? What in hell is this? Marjolaine, have you been blind this entire time!? All these years!? Did you see ****nothing** **of what I endured while Leron paraded you, the beautiful one, the graceful one, before the nobles who would not have cared if you died in my arms!? **_

_"I..." my words catch in my throat, "I cannot believe what I am hearing. Marjolaine, we are free to craft our own lives, away from Leron, away from Val Royeaux. Is this not what you wanted; what we spoke of so often into the night!?"_

_"In our early years, perhaps." Marjolaine idly cleans her nails, not seeing the tears on my cheeks, the anguish in my identical eyes. "Leave if you desire, Kathyra. I am content here."_

_"After all that I have done?" Rage and agony co-mingle and smear to one. "After everything I sold to Leron to secure your safety!? You would dismiss me without a glance, without a word!?"_

_"And what have you done, sister dear?" Marjolaine's upper lip curls in a sneer. "What have you done but been stupid enough to take all the nasty little aspects of our business upon yourself? Oh, the blood on my hands!" She exclaims in mock horror. "The **things** I have done! Perhaps, if you had a thought in that head of yours, you would not have found yourself on the darker side of the coin."_

_"What are you saying?" I ask, sorrow coating my soul in a thick, acidic blanket. "Marjolaine...what am I hearing?"_

_"The truth, as it were." she smiles and brushes an imaginary speck of dust from her impeccable, form-fitting clothing. "You have dreamed of freedom, sister, not I. I have all the freedom I need. While you have been slaving away, desecrating your body and soul, I have been making plans. Not plans to continue serving Leron, but to rule over him, to take his contacts from beneath him, to ruin his name. We could **thrive** , Kathyra. You see, my dear, I have learned my lessons well."_

_"Who **are** you?" _

_"Marjolaine." she grins, showing her teeth, white and pointed in the night. "I am your sister, dearest one. And, very soon, I shall be the premier bardmaster of Val Royeaux. You cannot ask me to leave such a prominent position for the ignominy of your supposed **freedom,** would you? How could you, Kathyra? How could you rip my dreams away; scatter me to the four corners of the world?"_

_"Your dreams?" I demand. "Marjolaine, what sort of sick dream is this!? Leron is...he is **despicable!** "_

_"To you." she shrugs." In truth, the man is brilliant. But he is too cautious, too careful. Why hide in the shadows when we can parade in palaces? Why cling to useless secrets when so much more can be achieved in the light? Let the whispers become shouts; let men and elves and dwarves **fear** the bardic calling."_

_"What has happened to you, little sister?" I beg, feeling for the hilt of my blade at the small of my back. I cannot explain why I feel the need to arm myself, but my senses are not often wrong, and they are screaming in warning._

_"I **found** my freedom, and not in a pile of gold earned by lost virtue. We were **never** in chains, Kathyra. We were never slaves. We were **blessed,** and I am willing to extend these blessings to you. Reign at **my** side, sister. I shall see to it that you will never know hunger again. I will se to it that you have all the comforts and luxuries that this life has to offer. Join me, for you are twice the fool if you think freedom can be bought. It can only be **taken**."_

_"No." I step forward, pulling my dagger in a smooth motion, for I feel threatened now. Marjolaine has never killed; she does not yet know the impact on the soul. She does not know the heated wash of blood against skin, or the terror of watching the light fade from another's eyes. I have kept her from that. I have **protected** her. "This is **madness,** Marjolaine! You have been deceived; your mind is ill! Come with me, **now**."_

_"Or you will make me?" she glances up at last, seeing the naked blade in my hands, a wicked dagger with pronged edges, meant to enter the skin as smoothly as silk and exit by mutilating flesh and muscle and vein. "Kathyra, set aside your blade lest I draw my own."_

_"No." I shake my head, fierce. "Please, Marjolaine. It does not have to be this way. Do you not want a life beyond secrets and shadows? Do you not want the bliss of lowering your guard? Do you not fear the knives in the dark?"_

_She smiles and I realize that her smile has changed. once it was full of laughter and light, making her even more beautiful. Now...now it does not reach her eyes. It hangs on her face, full of malic, full of ice, uncaring and unconcerned._

_"I am not afraid, Kathyra. Nor have I ever been. Put down the blade or I shall see that you intend to threaten my future and livelihood and I will **strike you down**."_

_**I cannot let this...this monstrosity...loose in this city. Marjolaine has lost her way and if she were to supplant Leron, with these thoughts and these words...the world is doomed. Marjolaine, why? I love you. Is it not enough? I gave you everything...why would you betray me this way? Why?**_

_Tears blur my vision as I bring my weapon up, refusing to drop it. Marjolaine draws her own and steps forward, intent on the attack. I dodge to the side, striking out. She ducks under the sweep, catches my arm in a vice grip, and brings my own hand and blade to my right side, piercing the skin, slipping the blade up, through the ribs, nicking my lung._

_I gasp from the shock, feeling warm heat flow over my hands as my mouth hangs open in a soundless scream. Marjolaine holds me, careful, walking me back and easing me down against the wall of the alley. I gasp for breath, choking and coughing and feeling blood coat my tongue._

_"Kathyra," Marjolaine clicks her tongue and shakes her head in a disapproving gesture, "you should have listened to me. But this...your supposed freedom...it is death, and I do so want to live, dear sister. You stupid, stupid woman. Everything...everything you gave me, everything you **thought** you gave me...it has no meaning, Kathyra. Not in the waking world. You gave me **nothing**."_

_Tears spill from my eyes and I cannot suppress the cry of pain that rips from me as Marjolaine's hand takes the knife, bathing her skin in the blood of her last remaining family...the first blood she has ever shed. She pulls the blade out and I feel the barbed edges rip and shred me, inside and out. A ragged scream tears from my throat and I clutch at my little sister's shoulder; remembering holding her while she cried herself to sleep, promising that everything would be well with the dawn, offering her what little food I had been able to scrounge. I remember soothing her when the nightmares came...nightmares that I had too, that no one woke me from with an embrace and kind words._

_Marjolaine stands and brushes her clothing free of the debris from the dank, stinking alley. "Farewell, sister dear." she croons. "You should have left without me. You should have known that love earns nothing but betrayal."_

_"M...Marjolaine." I plead, reaching out with a trembling hand, pressing my other hand against the wound in my side. "Little sister, please...please help me."_

_"You gave me nothing, Kathyra." Marjolaine eyes the blade she pulled from my body...my weapon of choice. She smiles and tucks it into her belt without cleaning my blood from it. It stains her clothing and drips onto the stone, unforgiving and absolute betrayal. "Why should I give you anything more?"_


	3. Salvation's Angry Tones

**Kathyra**

     "Sit down, Leliana." a soft voice with a Ferelden accent catches my hearing, barely louder than the creaking of the ship. "Those have to sting."

     I turned my head, feeling the muscles in my neck knot uncomfortably. I swallowed down nausea as pain streaked through my chest with every movement of the ship. The young templar private put her hand on Leliana's shoulder and urged her to sit down.

     "I'm all right." Leliana whispered, her eyes meeting mine, noticing I was awake. She stayed Kestrel with a raised hand and moved closer to me, bringing an oil lamp with her.

     In the dim light, I could see the scratches that marred her skin, little slivers of wood embedded in the wounds. In spite of the large piece of wood in my side, I chafed at seeing someone I cared for wounded in any way. For a moment, my uselessness overwhelmed me and I clenched my fingers into the weakest of resentful fists. I opened my mouth to speak, but Leliana placed a gentle finger across my lips.

     "Conserve your strength." she warned, a caution I had given to many soldiers on the battlefield.

     _To hear it now...from her lips...is but another form of torture. Why, Leliana? Why are you fighting for me? The last who did...suffered for the doing. I would not wish that fate on you, you who shine so bright, even in the darkest of skies._

     "How are you feeling?" Leliana asked, tucking a wayward curl behind my ear. "None of that," she cautioned as I took a rattling breath. "Just blink. Once for yes. Twice for now. Are you in pain?"

     Once.

     "Is it bearable?"

     Once.

     She offered me a weak smile and I clung to it. She had promised me that I would be all right, and how I _wanted_ to believe. Life had become rote after my Seeker's training. Serving the Chantry, traveling with Cassandra, reining her in from her darker impulses. It had all been so very much the same. With Leliana...things had _changed_...in a way that I could not quite describe.

     _Like snowfall in a land of endless summer._

"Do you feel ill?" Leliana continued her questions a she checked the bandaging the held the projectile in my side still.

     Once.

     "Kestrel," Leliana looked up, "could you look in Kathyra's bag? There should be shaved ginger root. Will that help you?" she turned to me again, kind and caring.

     "Yes." I spoke, unable to keep silent any longer. "Leliana...please...let Kestrel look after you."

     She smiled and took my hand, squeezing it, imparting comfort and strength. "I. Am. Fine." she stressed every word. "And if need be, I shall carve that on a stick and beat every last one of you with it."

     "Such...dark...humor." I coughed, feeling the sticky wet of blood fleck my lips.

     "I find it a saving grace in situations such as these." Leliana muttered, pulling a thick blanket from a pile of bedding.

    She cupped my neck with a tender hand and lifted my head, easing the folded blanket beneath it, propping me up further. "There." she smiled again. "That should help you breathe easier."

     "Leliana." Kestrel handed my younger sister's brightest pupil a cup. "I added the ginger to some tea. Will that be all right?"

     "Yes." Leliana accepted the cup and held it to my lips.

     I lifted a shaky hand to aid myself, savoring the tea as it eased the rawness of my throat. Warmth infused me and the heady scent of ginger stung as I inhaled. I finished drinking and Leliana put the cup away and tucked the blankets around me to help preserve what little body heat I had left. Every action showed her care, her thoughtfulness, her understanding of the pain that the injured were in. It was an empathy I had not seen since...so very long ago.

     "Better?" she asked, soaking a cloth in cool water and wiping sweat from my brow and blood from my lips.

     "Yes." my eyelids fluttered as a weary, pained lassitude overtook me. "Thank...you."

     "Rest now." Leliana soothed, stroking my cheek with the back of her fingers. "At least for tonight, let go of your worries, and let me care for you."

     "Leliana," Kestrel's voice, so impossibly calm, given the situation, crossed the distance, "there's fresh blood on Rylie's bandages. I think the wound may have torn."

     The air around me stirred and my eyes closed at last; I did not have the strength to open them again. I heard sounds of soft encouragements fall from Kestrel's lips, whispered from lover to loved, healer to patient.

     "Maker's breath, her pulse is racing." Leliana breathed, and oblivion conquered me once again.

* * *

     _"...me...hear...you...can you hear me? I need you to wake up. If you can hear me, open your eyes." Somewhere, along the silver-edged black of oblivion, I hear it._

_Crystal, like a glass bell, the faintest of noises. A sweet voice, light and airy...a songbird. My eyelids feel heavy, as though they have been sewn shut. I knew that, before, there was pain, but I cannot feel the pain now. I cannot feel anything now._

_**Dead...I am dead. I must be. I...I remember...not breathing.**_

_"Cyril, I need you here, **now**!" the same crystal voice, stronger now. Insistent._

_"Maker's breath!" A polished accent, too polished for the streets of Val Royeaux, for this dingy alleyway...almost too polished for a man. "There's blood everywhere. No way can she still be alive."_

_Warmth...warmth washing over me in the form of hands, hands pressing at my wrists, my neck. "She has a pulse, Cyril! Now help me or I swear I will have you torn in pieces and refuse to stitch you back together!"_

_My instinct is to cringe away from the anger in her words, for I know what follows that heated tone. Beatings...whips and fists...bruised, bloody flesh. I attempt o move, to protect my head from the blows certain to come. Instead, pain such as I have never experienced washes over me and I want to scream...nothing but a breathy whimper emerges._

_"Are you awake?" the anger is gone, now there is just urgency. "Are you conscious? Can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"_

_There are hands everywhere now, feeding the fear that causes my heart to hammer painfully in my chest. "Stab wound," the voice turns clinical and almost detached, but underneath I can still feel and hear the fire, the anger. "To the right side. Possible collapsed lung. Maker, her breathing sounds terrible."_

_"She's lost so much blood." the man speaks. "There's more of it on the ground than in her body. We...we won't be able to get her to the mages in time. The Circle is across the city."_

_"I am not entirely unskilled, Cyril." Indignation. "The Chantry isn't far. Can you carry her?"_

_**I...I do not understand. What is happening? What...what is this!?**_

_Warm, strong arms wrap around me, enfolding me in the terrifying scent of a man. This scent means domination, means death, means pain and unending agony. I do not want it! I cannot be here! My eyes flare open and I attempt to move, to struggle, to get **away** from that deadly smell, but my body refuses to obey. _

_"Hold still." the arms tighten and the man speaks. "We are going to help you."_

_I attempt to breathe, to speak, but the air catches in my throat and I cough, feeling as though my chest is being crushed as blood spills into my mouth. I cannot rid myself of the taste of copper and salt and I want to gag on it but I do not have the strength._

_"Quickly, Cyril." the soft, light, glass voice floats away. "We haven't much time."_

_My eyes close as the pressure on my chest becomes a battle no longer worth fighting. "I don't think we can save this one." his voice sounds grim._

_"Nonsense!" Strength. Passion. Fire. "Death has won too many battles today. I am at my **end** with losing! Now, **move!** "_


	4. Waking Up

**Kathyra**

_"There. That's the last of it." the gentle, airy voice and the snipping sound of shears against thread. The scissor snick sends a wash of alarm through me, but there is nothing I can do. I cannot seem to find awareness enough to move._

_"Well?" I recall that voice, masculine, well-bred, from the alley. "What is your verdict?"_

_"The bleeding is stopped and the wound stitched. She'll need rest and care in order for her lung to heal properly, but her recovery is on her shoulders now, no thanks to you, Cyril. Could you not at least have done **something**?" I hear ire and frustration. _

_"I did." Something within me chafes at the arrogance of his tone. "I spent **my** time explaining to the Revered Mother why you had brought in yet another stray dog."_

_**Yes.** Weary thoughts, my first hint of cogency, invade my mind. **A dog. Beaten and left to die in the streets. Why am I not dead?**_

_"You took an oath, Cyril." the lightness in her tone vanishes. "I will not have my patients spoken about in such a manner."_

_"Even a rogue? A possible thief? Mayhaps even an assassin?" He asks. "How many weapons did you find on her person?"_

_"She was injured, and that is all that should matter. Who and what she is are superfluous to me." A stranger defends me and shame crashes in, for I know I am not worthy. My own **sister** did not find me worth keeping alive. "This is not a mere profession, Cyril. It is a calling."_

_"I know that..."_

_"It is **obvious** that you are mistaken." the fire in her tone is warming, not at all like the flames in Leron's and Marjolaine's voices...they speak and mean to burn, to sear, to leave scars. "Consider your apprenticeship terminated, Cyril. Get out of my sight and do not darken my doorway again."_

_"But..." he sputters, "...but there are none..."_

_"There are plenty of like-minded fools who will take you under their wing." she hisses. "I am not one of them. I will not waste time in order to pander to your self-perceived importance. Get. Out. Now."_

_"The Revered Mother wants to see you." his bitter voice echoes, fading as he moves away. "She is not pleased."_

_"She can wait!"_

_**I need to open my eyes...need to see...feel powerless...so fucking weak.**_

_I fight against my body's wishes, forcing my eyes to open, wincing at the bright light in the room. There is nothing I can se that can tell me where I am, but I feel the surface beneath me, soft and comfortable. I tilt my head; even the slight motion leaves me exhausted. My vision clears and the woman who stands in the doorway turns around, giving me the first glimpse of my savior._

_Her hair is the color of pure gold, beautiful, even though it is lank and stuck to her skin, held in place by a layer of sweat. Her features are soft, a heart shaped face with prominent cheekbones; her small, upturned nose sits above a pair of supple, pink lips. she is shorter than me by half a head, her frame slight and willowy. She wears a simple dress, not like any Chantry robe I have ever seen. The plain, blue garment is covered by a white apron soaked in splotches of blood._

_**My...blood...**_

_"Well hello there." she sees that my eyes are open and walks toward me, sitting on the edge of the bed... **it is a bed**. I attempt to pull away, uncertain of her intentions. _

_Betrayal is close in my mind at this moment. I have given up everything I knew and had it flung back into my face, turned into a blade, and shoved into my body against my will. Everything I had was not enough...it was nothing._

_**I tried...I tried so hard. Why was it not enough, little sister? Why did you want...why did you want that life? Why? How? Where did I go wrong? **_

_"Stay still." the woman cautions and a gentle, feather-light touch rests on my shoulder. "You are in the Chantry in Val Royeaux. Cyril and I brought you here after we found you in the alley. Do you remember?"_

_"Yes." my voice scratches out of my throat and I curl into myself as my body spasms with wracking coughs, pain splintering through me until I want to die._

_"Shit." she curses, sounding unlike any sister of the Chantry I have ever before heard. Through the paroxysm, I catch glimpses of her moving until she is out of my line of sight._

_After what seems an eternity, the coughing stops, leaving behind a dull, hollow fire in my chest. I lie still, terrified to move. The woman reappears, a cup in her hand. She sits beside me and laces one hand behind my neck, lifting my head and placing the cup to my lips._

_"Drink it, slow." she orders, and I am too weak to resist._

_Obedient, I sip the water, thankful as it eases down my abused throat, soothing it and washing away the taste of copper and salt. The room is still blurred at the edges, but I can see my savior clearly, and I wonder why a stranger would be so kind. Most would walk by and leave the injured to bleed on the streets. I would know. I had done the same to others whom I saw, weak and injured and ill._

_"Excellent." she commends me when I finish the water. She sets aside the cup and her hands move toward my face. I recoil, afraid of her touch and she immediately pulls her hand away, holding it in front of my eyes, fingers spread apart. "I mean you no harm, I promise."_

_**Maker's blood...** all coherent thought vanishes as I meet her eyes for the first time. _ _**Such a shade of green...can it even exist? Like a glacier of new life...like magic itself.** _

_"What is your name?" she asks, a tender smile perched on her perfect lips._

_The pain in my chest makes me fear speech, but I owe her at least my identity. "K...Kathyra." I cannot rasp above a whisper._

_"What happened to you, Kathyra?" she inquires, and fear fills me again._

_**In the Chantry...they must have notified the city guardsman and magistrate...how do I know...how do I know that she intends for me to get well, then to leave me be? I cannot...cannot endure prison. I can trust no one; I know that now.**_

_I shake my head in minute movements, unwilling to tell her the cause of my injuries. I am almost unwilling to believe the cause of them._

_"Were you attacked?" she inquires further, deepening my distrust._

_**No...not attacked. Betrayed. I was...heavens, hells, and angels, I drew my weapon first. I intended to draw my own sister's blood? Or did I simply attempt to defend myself? Does it matter? She tore me apart. **_

_"No."_

_Her eyebrows rise, an obvious tell of disbelief. "I see." her eyes, instead of hardening...soften. "For now, it does not matter. You came very close to losing your life, Kathyra, and you are still far from well. I was able to save you this time, but your continued recovery is in your hands. I need you to rest now, all right? And call for me should you wake and need anything."_

_**I...I do not even know...**_

_"Name?" I ask, not able to breathe deeply enough to manage more words._

_A self-deprecating smile curves her lips. "Of course." she shakes her head at herself and tucks her hair behind her ear...too pointed an ear for a human, but not that of an elf, either. "I am a physician." the term is unfamiliar to me. "And my name is Giselle."_

_Something in the back of my mind tells me that I should be grateful, that I should thank her for saving my life...but she saved something that has no meaning. My life is worthless now. I am a dog, freed from cruel masters then killed by its family._

_**I have been trained for death and for secrets. Where would I have gone, had my own blade not been shoved into me? I have...nothing to turn to. Forgive me, Giselle, but I cannot offer you gratitude. Not without knowing your intentions.**_

* * *

     "Lieutenant?" A voice, close to me, worried. "Lieutenant?"

     I looked into glimmering viridian eyes, a shade of green that should not exist. "Giselle?" I asked, confused, wondering if I were still locked inside my memories.

     "No, ma'am." the eyes filled with concern. "It's Kestrel. Are you all right?"

     Cool fingers rested on my brow and I hissed at the drastic shift in temperature.

     "Maker's breath, you're burning up." the templar private breathed. "I have to find Leliana. I will return soon, I promise."

     The young woman rose and left with hurried footfalls, leaving me alone with tears in my eyes. I wanted to grieve, but I did not have the energy. All I could do was close my eyes and listen to my own thoughts.

     _None other's eyes should be that color,_ my irrational mind spoke. _It is...it is too heartbreaking._


	5. Fear of the Simplest Things

**Kathyra**

     "It is as I feared." Leliana sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Too quickly, though. This is all happening too quickly."

     "What is it?" Kestrel asked, looking from Rylie to me with those heart-breaking eyes.

     The red-haired woman remained silent for a moment, keeping her hand in place, not flinching when the templar private rested a hand on her shoulder.

     _How is_ _it_...I wondered as Leliana reached up and squeezed Kestrel's hand with her own... _that you do not fear touch? I know that Marjolaine wounded you; that she cut you off from trust in humanity as surely as she did me. How is it...how is it that you find yourself so healed, Leliana?_

     "I expected infection, but not so soon." Leliana locked her eyes with mine, screaming an apology, begging me to remain calm, to not worry. "It will be all right, though. It must be."

     _If death chooses to come for me..._ I sighed and grappled with my will to live... _I think...at last...I can find myself reconciled to it. I have seen,_ I smiled for Leliana's sake, wishing to alleviate the underlying worry in her gaze, _that the love that preserves the world...still exists._

     "Don't...don't make a fuss." I whispered. "It...means enough...that you tried."

     "No." Leliana shook her head, fierce. "You do not get the luxury of giving up. Not yet, Kathyra. Keep fighting, let me fight with you and I promise you, I _swear_ , I will not lose."

     A dull ache began between my temples and I hissed as it pounded painfully behind my eyes. "Those...words...aren't yours."

     "No, they are not." she agreed, pressing her fingers to my neck, measuring my pulse. "They were Salem's first."

     _Salem Cousland...the woman who holds your heart. The woman who managed to kill a god. With such a vision before you, Leliana...why would you even look at another in kindness?_

     "They make no sense." Kestrel muttered. "I will not lose? What does that even mean?"

     The templar private's brow creased in confusion as she attempted to understand what Leliana had said, but I felt no lack of comprehension. I knew exactly how the former bard had meant her words; how the warden must have meant them when they first left her lips. Victory for one did not always end in defeat for the other, but that was a difficult lesson to learn. So few did.

     "Belief...rarely ever...makes sense." I breathed, recalling a time when I had lost all belief, when everything had been ruled by logic, reason, that which was tangible and real.

     When I had no reason to indulge the beautiful monster known as hope.

* * *

     _When next I open my eyes, dim sunlight filters through the window. I feel hollow and empty, though the pressure on my chest has eased some. My side throbs with a dull ache, hurting worse the deeper I breathe. I push myself up against the pillow, ceasing as I feel a line of fire rip along my ribs and streak down my leg. I collapse, breathing heavy, feeling sweat break out on my forehead. The door opens and the woman I remember, as if from the briefest of dreams, enters. Her eyes fix on mine and her brow creases in what might be concern. I do not trust myself, in this weakened state, to read emotions as adeptly as once I could._

_**Or perhaps my skill was a delusion as well. After all, should I not have known that Marjolaine was perpetrating a ruse? She would not even embrace me in greeting? How could I have been so stupid!? **_

_"It took two days, but at last you are awake." It is the same airy, glass voice that I remember from fevered dreaming, always with a soothing word or a scathing defense of me. "Annnnnd," she draws closer to the bed and her lips purse in a frown, "you tried to move."_

_"Gi...Giselle?" I ask, recalling her smile, her voice, and those **eyes.**_

_The frown fades and she sits beside me, careful to maintain distance between us. "I am surprised that you remember." she comments, a smile taking over her lips. "How do you feel?"_

_**Reveal no weaknesses. Any vulnerability, perceived or otherwise, will be used against me. **_

_"Much better." I lie, attempting to wipe the expression of pain from my face, to build a mask as I so often have before._

_"I suppose you know best." Giselle shrugs and rises as if to depart. "Very well, then. You are free to leave whenever you wish, Kathyra. Far be it from me to hold you against your will."_

_She turns her back and I throw the covers off, determined to leave, to get as far from this place as possible. With careful, measured movements, I place my feet on the floor and stand. My chest heaves with the effort it takes to breathe and the world spins in front of me, but I close my eyes and grit my teeth, hell-bent on fleeing, hiding, never speaking to another, and never letting another's hand near me. I take a step and the pain hits, fresh as when the knife entered my skin. My knees buckle and I fall to the floor, unable to bite back a cry of pain. I lie on the floor, clutching my side, attempting to breathe, to retain consciousness. Black streaks and sparkles across my vision with only gleaming, ice-green eyes standing out in the darkness._

_"You...you knew." I accuse her. "Why...why would you let me do this?"_

_"Would you thank me for keeping you here, or resent me?" Giselle inquires as she drops to her knees beside me. "I can only help you so far as you will allow me, Kathyra. If you refuse to believe you are safe, who am I to convince you of anything different? If you insist on lying about your health, who am I to tell you that you are injured?"_

_I prop myself up on my elbows, shaking and in pain, hissing through clenched teeth as wave after wave of nauseating agony rolls over me._

_"Now, will you accept my help?" she asks._

_"Yes." I whimper, though every instinct screams to run, to fight, to not be touched ever again._

_"I will have to touch you, Kathyra." Giselle says, and her voice rings with an emotion I have not heard since my mother spoke to me, so long ago..._

_**Patience.**_

_"All right." I acquiesce, closing my eyes as she wraps her arm around my shoulders and lifts me, easing me onto the bed._

_Darts of fire shoot through my lungs and I begin to gasp for air, able to take only the shallowest of breaths. A small, delicate hand and a strong arm slip beneath the bend of my knees and lifts my legs, stretching my legs out and helping me back down onto the pillow. Shame fills me as tears pour down my cheeks and I bite my lip, attempting to stave off the pain._

_"Breathe slowly." she orders. "And not too deep. You might undo all my work."_

_There is a note of jest in her voice, but I cannot appreciate the humor as I fight to control my breathing. Again, I fight a war within myself, wondering where the woman who would have thanked her had disappeared to. She no longer exists as part of me, and that is even more terrifying than what has happened. I am so afraid...so afraid._

_"Kathyra, I need to check your injuries and make certain that you haven't torn your stitches. Will you let me? May I touch you again?"_

_Tears fill my eyes and I close them as I nod my head. The chill in my air bites my skin as she lifts my shirt, and the pain worsens as she removes the bandages and her fingers probe the wound with a light touch. I begin to shake as her hand rests beneath my breast, gauging the rise and fall of my chest. My tears flow free as I wait for the agony to end. Not the pain of my injuries, freshly awakened by my stupidity, but the intimate anguish of having another's flesh touch mine._

_No hands have touched me since my parent's death but that they desired something. My body, my time, my submission. The comfort of my sister's embrace had been my last refuge, and now even that has been denied. Giselle's touch is light but it is damnation and I despise it for I am waiting for something to be stolen from me, ripped away. Every muscle spasms and trembles as Giselle continues her examination._

_"I am sorry." she whispers. "So very, very sorry."_

_"Stop." I beg, the word emerging on a sob. "Please, stop."_

_"Kathyra, some of your stitches were torn. I need..."_

_"Just take your hands away." I beg, feeling blood drain from my face. "Don't...don't touch me, **please** stop touching me."_

_She withdraws her hands and pulls the blankets up to my waist as my body continues to trembled. "Kathyra, I need to stop the bleeding." her voice does not rise in anger, instead it is calm, soothing. "Please let me help you."_

_"Not worth it." I gasp into the pillow. "Not worth it."_

_"Kathyra, please..." she entreats, and I feel the burn of her skin against mine once more._

_I slap her hand away and sit up. " **Don't!** " I shout, doubling over as pain rips through my chest and I begin coughing until I gag, breathing too fast and unable to stop. _

_"Kathyra, breathe." Giselle's unearthly eyes fill with worry and her hands hover, desperate to do something, anything, but I cannot **bear** the feel of them again. "You are going to faint, Kathyra. Listen... **listen** to me, please!" _

_I shake my head as pressure builds in my chest and black creeps in on my vision again. "Let...it...happen." I gasp. "Then do...what you...must."_

_Giselle reaches for me as my eyes roll backward and the blissful torment of unconsciousness washes over me again._


	6. Enmity and Empathy

**Kathyra**

_I lie awake and stare at the glow of the moon on the ceiling. I have been awake for at least a candlemark now, watching the glow of the fire make the shadows dance. There is still a dull ache in my side and my lung, reminding me that, should I try to leave, I will fail, and suffer for the failing. Marjolaine left my body very damaged, but somehow I feel that her knife had been merciful...her eyes and actions had eviscerated my very soul._

_"This cannot continue." I hear a harsh voice...an older woman. "You are neglecting your duties, and it **has** been noticed."_

_"You mean that Cyril is offended at my retraction of his apprenticeship and has appealed to his father, the unctuous duke." The tone I have memorized as Giselle's comes through the closed door. "I have no patience for your politicking, therefore this argument is pointless."_

_"Do not try my patience, Sister Giselle, and do not insult the nobility in my presence. **Your** presence here is due **entirely** to your father's good name and title, Maker rest his soul." The aged voice speaks again, more volume, more vehemence. "I have kept you from undue prejudice, and you would do well to remember that favors of this magnitude are not without their price."_

_I cringe inside as the stranger speaks the knowledge that all bards are forced to learn early on. Nothing is given. Nothing is free, and things that appear in that guise are those which cost much more than their worth. That is why bards exist, to reduce the cost for those who wish to achieve power, and are willing to sacrifice their soul and human worth to accomplish that feat._

_**How much will I be forced to pay for my life?** I wonder, plucking at the blankets with my fingers. _

_Giselle laughs and I strain to detect notes of derision, mockery, or nervousness, but none are there. Instead, the laughter translates as nothing but pure mirth, something so unnatural for one being berated by someone of obvious higher authority._

_"Undue prejudice, Mother Dorothea?" Giselle inquires. "I will not apologize for my laughter, for you are obviously under delusions as to your powers in this case. You've not even protected me from **your** prejudice, and you cannot lie that it is there."_

_I can see the situation in my mind's eye, the narrowing of the gaze, thinning of the lips, all minute gestures of disapproval that mark silence such as the one that stands between the two women now._

_"I am pinned betwixt two minds, Sister Giselle." The stranger's voice loses a slight measure of its former heat. "You are the best I have seen in this unstudied field, and to lose you would deal an immense amount of damage that we are able, in our current state, to pursue. However, I cannot afford to give insult to the Duke de Montfort. You know as well as I do that the duke has the empress' ear, **and** the Divine's."_

_"I am not a proponent of compromise without some **benefit** , Mother Dorothea, and no one stands to benefit from Cyril de Montfort playing physician." Giselle states and my heartbeat quickens. _

_**One who does not know compromise knows little of mercy. It is as I thought...I cannot trust her.**_

_"Then accept an ultimatum." the woman named Dorothea orders. "If you do not find a new apprentice within the next seven days, you will return to training Cyril. I can wave a convincing enough tale within that amount of time to placate Duke de Montfort."_

_"You are smiling, Revered Mother." Giselle's tone is dark. "It is obvious that you think I will be unsuccessful."_

_"If it takes true calling, as you seem to believe, to become a physician, then your assumption is not incorrect." I can envision the smug expression stamped on the Revered Mother's face...I know, for I have worn that same smugness myself. "Good day, Sister Giselle. Go in the Maker's grace."_

_The door swings wide and Giselle enters, running her hands through her hair, muttering a string of decidedly un-sisterly epithets. "...grace of the **fucking** silent god..."_

_"Is...is everything all right?" I ask, thinking that I should at least attempt civility, draw her in, learn from her what she desires and evade the payment for it. I have nothing. I am nothing._

_Giselle glances up at me and her lips widen in a smile. I could find such a smile beautiful...if I knew what lay behind it._

_"Awake at last." she says in lieu of greeting. "And with color in your cheeks. Damned if I don't do good work."_

_**Be friendly, Kathyra,** _ _I give myself a stern lecture. **Speak with her. Learn.**_

_"For a sister of the Chantry, you have quite the coarse tongue." My tone is flat and I chastise myself for it._

_**Where is the ease with which I once flung words of humor and seduction? Who is this monotone, fearful woman who has stolen my voice?**_

_"Pffft." she blows air through her teeth in a dismissive manner as she sorts through the plethora of glass vials on the shelf. "My vows were a formality...an attempt to rein me into Chantry structure, since it is beneath their providence that I am able to persist in my profession, and the rabid vultures wish to keep it so."_

_"Then why do you continue with them and play their games?" I attempt to detach myself from the question, but find it too near to the inquiries I have posed to myself on far too many occasions. "Why not open a...a clinic...or whatever the term may be?"_

_Giselle's shoulders stiffen and she sighs after a moment, relaxing the tension. "I cannot legally own property." she says, blithe. "As you must have overheard, I am given the opportunity to practice simply because my father was a wealthy man and a lesser noble, but I am the product of his dalliance with an elven servant and therefore I have no rights, despite my education and skills."_

_"You are half-elven?" I ask, stunned by the revelation._

_**I have met very few of them, embroiled in bitterness, living in squalor, not accepted by either half of their heritage.**_

_"As they come." she turns to me with a dazzling grin and holds a glass vial aloft. "But you should not be worrying yourself with my troubles, Kathyra. Concentrate on getting well."_

_"I...I feel a bit...stronger?" I mumble as she takes her customary seat the edge of the bed. "You needn't keep looking after me, not if you are suffering for it."_

_Giselle waves a dismissive hand. "Let Dorothea huff and puff. It's good for her; clears out her ancient lungs and gives her a sense of...oh, I don't know...authority?" A roguish grin reveals the flash of a single dimple in her left cheek. "I am self-educated and self-taught, and no shemlen shrew will threaten me and succeed. Posture though she might, I **will** find an apprentice and send Cyril scuttling back under Duke Prosper's petticoats. The worm has delusions of being some 'great healer' and to be frank, I've no time to cater to his whims. You'll forgive me for my belief that no noble smarm could be content covered every day in blood and sweat and sick."_

_**She is so strong,** I watch as her hands fidget, as though they yearn to be put to use. **She has carved for herself a place in a world that has no room for her kind. To have such potential...to remain unbroken. I...I want that? b**_

_"And you are?" I question, wondering why a woman, self-educated and self-taught, who could rise above the servant's life her birth dictated...would **choose** to serve. _

_"I am. I am good with my hands, with mending things. I always was, you see." Giselle uncorks the vial and sniffs the contents, seeming satisfied as she takes a cup from the nightstand and adds a few drops of the substance into it. "And I am possessed of a singularly curious nature. My father might not have been able to leave me property or wealth, but," she winks, "he always left his library unlocked. I would sneak in as a child and pore over the books, learning herbalism, anatomy, **everything** I could get my hands on. As fate would have it, embroider has more uses than adorning handkerchiefs."_

_I find myself laughing and put a hand to my side as the pain deepens, feeling the raised edges of the wound and the thread holding my skin together through the thin shirt I wear. "So it would seem."_

_"Drink this." she hands me the cup._

_I hold it to my nose, attempting to smell any poisons or sedatives she might have added._

_"Chickweed oil." she informs me. "It will help keep down the swelling and also help prevent an infection of the blood."_

_With wary eyes, I look at her while I drink the water, wincing at the bitter hint of what must be the herb. Without a word, I hand the cup back to her. She turns it in her hand, examining it with what seems to be great interest._

_"You do not trust me, do you?" She asks, a question so direct that I find myself stumbling over a torrent of conflicting thoughts._

_"No." I answer, remembering that, when I purchased my freedom, I wanted to go from thence and live as an **honest** woman._

_"With that in mind..." she frowns as she returns to the cup to the nightstand, "...I told you before, I will not keep you against your will. Is there anyone I can notify? Anyone who can take proper care of you...a friend...a relative, perhaps?"_

_Tears prick the back of my eyes and I fight against them, struggling to conceal my emotion, my pain, my fear. "No." I rasp through the knot in my throat. "I...I have no one."_

_The concrete reminder of all that I have lost crashes in on me and I begin to shake as I repress tears, emotion, the heart that longs to scream. Giselle holds my gaze and I see the war within her as she struggles against her very nature, as she folds hands that would reach out and comfort into her lap and laces her fingers together._

_"You can stay here for your recovery, Kathyra." she tells me, attempting to smile. "Hopefully, I can prove worthy of your trust."_

_I shake my head, letting my tangled hair, so in need of a wash, shield my face. "Do not waste time with a losing battle, Giselle."_

_"Ha!" she exclaims, rising and holding her vial aloft like a sword. "I do not fight but that I win!"_

_**You won't,** my darker voice whispers as a cold chill shudders down my spine. **You will not win this, Giselle. You cannot fight to preserve...what has already been lost.**_


	7. The All-Important Choice

**Kathyra**

     "Forgive me." A quiet apology. "My...my hands will not seem to stop shaking."

     "Quite all right." I wondered how it was possible for Leliana to smile, but I could hear that expression in her words; see it even though my vision blurred. "If I am not mistaken, that was the last of them."

     "Thank the Maker's twisted grace." Kestrel heaved a sigh and set aside a small, sharp knife. "Bandaging?"

     "No need. The wounds are inconsequential. So long as the splinters are removed, they should heal fine." Leliana reached out and took the templar private's hand. "What did I tell you about resting, Kestrel? You look exhausted."

     "I tried." The young templar shook her head. "Nightmares...it...it isn't safe, Leliana. Please understand. I'm too afraid, too close...I can't be tempted."

     Leliana's brow creased and the blue in her eyes turned to that of a faraway sky. She made it appear as if she looked into a different life, a different universe years and seasons away from where we were.

     "I do understand." Her voice held a soft tremor, the unintended vibrato of a violin with shivery strings.

     _How many nightmares have you endured, Leliana?_ I wondered, amazed at the look of composure that never left her face, the tight calm in the set of her lips. _Did you...did you have someone near you kind enough to wake you from them? Or were you alone?_

     "How does Kathyra fare?" Kestrel's soft voice broke my moment of reverie.

     A cool hand pressed against my forehead and smoothed back my hair in a gentle motion. "Her temperature has not risen." Leliana answered, and I could hear the tangible exhaustion in her words. "But this is a brief respite in a losing battle."

     Grief caught in my throat as I heard her words, the first doubts that crossed her lips. Tears began to gather behind my closed eyes, but I did not allow them to fall.

     "Leliana, surely you..."

     "Of course not." She interrupted. "I refuse to shy away from the truth of the matter, but I have also seen miracles, Kestrel. I have seen so many losing battles won...by those who stood no chance of victory."

     Grief shone out from the templar private's eyes and her voice rose barely above a whisper, "You wish the warden were here?"

     The shadow of Leliana, cast by the oil lamp, nodded. "Yes. But I believe that we all have those that we wish were here, hale an hearty, full of their strength and comfort."

     _Yours still lives._

     Sorrow filled me and, for the first time, I forced myself back into my memories. They were kinder than the present, full of hope...and death of the same.

* * *

_"You have one day left, Sister Giselle." Mother Dorothea's voice comes from the open doorway, taunting, haughty, not at all like a leader of the Chantry should speak. "Have you found your new apprentice?"  
_

_"Not as of yet, Revered Mother, but I trust that the Creators will provide."_

_"There will be none of your heresy beneath this roof." Dorothea hisses, heat in her voice._

_I cower beneath the covers, dreading the confrontation soon to come, as it has every day, from one source or another. Watching Giselle struggle to merely keep her place, to practice her hard-learned art, to **help** those less fortunate, had torn at my very soul. She remained remarkably kind, mindful of my needs, keeping her hands separate from my body unless absolutely necessary. Her touch had begun to burn less, but I still feared it, though I hated my body when it rebelled, my heart as it beat faster, my gut as it twisted in dread. _

_"Do you hear my complaints of your blind fanatacism for your Maker?" Giselle asks, all innocence and a sweet smile. "No? I thought not. Do me the courtesy of the same."_

_"You are in the house of the Maker!" Dorothea thunders. "Still your heretic's tongue!"_

_"Why must I?" Giselle asks another question. "None would hear my heretic's tongue beneath your verbose bluster, Mother Dorothea. Would it be an imposition to ask you to lower your voice? My patient is still recovering. She needs her rest."_

_"And **I** need my chief healer to attend to her duties." Dorothea's voice is ice, though much quieter. Giselle has won a small victory, even though neither woman realizes it. _

_"Have I been absent from the Chantry's clinic?" Giselle places a finger against her lower lip in pretend contemplation._

_"No." The word is a growl. "But you cannot allow a single patient to divert your focus. Your mind is split in two directions, Sister Giselle, it does not behoove you to separate yourself from your self-imposed 'calling'."_

_"I am **following** my calling." Giselle's voice remains even, as it must when dealing with humans...humans who despise her for a heritage that is not her doing, not her fault. "If you are too ignorant to see..."_

_"Cease those words before you earn my further ire." Dorothea warns. "And your day is gone. Find a new apprentice by sunset, or you **will** begin training Cyril de Montfort once again. I will prove that your Creators..."_

_"Are as silent and ineffectual as your Maker?" Giselle questions._

_Dorothea flings the door shut before Giselle can utter another word. Silence stands for a moment._

_"Unctuous bitch!" Giselle slams the side of her fist against the door._

_I push the covers aside and Giselle turns to me, alarm in the eyes that I have come to regard as beautiful, though the care and concern I see in them terrifies me to no end. Marjolaine had worn those emotions in her eyes, once. She had taken care of me when I had returned to Leron with minor injuries. She had sung me to sleep when I awakened from a slumber filled with nightmares._

_"Kathyra! Andraste's ass, did I wake you? You're so pale..." She steps closer and I draw the sheets about me as though they offer protection. Giselle sees the movements, minute as they are, and stops short. Her lips purse in a frown, her eyes fill with anguish. "I...I'm sorry, Kathyra. Do forgive me."_

_"It...it's all right." I stammer, unused to apology from any quarter. "Do not...do not worry over me."_

_"I do worry for you." She sits at the edge of the bed and stares at me with those intense, fiery eyes. "You are my patient, and I..."_

_"You cannot put so much importance on one human life...especially not mine." I shake my head. "You said two days ago that I am healed enough to leave."_

_"I said that, against my better judgement, you were healed enough." Giselle counters. "And I can place importance on whatever life I so choose. You...you will not listen to a word I say, will you?"_

_I draw my knees up to my chest, wincing at the slight pain, pain that has faded under Giselle's expert care. "I do not know if this is any consolation, Giselle, but...I **do** listen. It is...it is the believing that is difficult, and..."_

_"And not your fault." Giselle places a hand near my feet, close, but not touching. "You have been hurt, Kathyra, not just in body, but in your mind and soul. Can you believe me when I say I would appreciate the opportunity to mend those as well?"_

_My body begins to tremble from a different sort of fear. Fear that she is telling the truth, that, if I allow her, Giselle will continue in her myriad kindnesses, her comforting words, her beautiful intentions. She is a woman unlike any I have ever known, and there is a tender, bruised part of my heart that wishes to accept her words as truth. There is a part that wants to believe that she acts as she does with no ulterior motives, no underlying causation that makes her be as she is._

_"I...I want to." I breathe._

_"That is enough for me." She smiles and I see a new light in her eyes, so bright and damning that it causes me to fear my own decision; question the rightness of it._

_I wanted to believe Leron when he offered me and Marjolaine shelter, food, a family, and a life. Security. I wanted to believe that Marjolaine was kept safe from the horrors of the bardic world by my actions. I wanted to believe my little sister when she embraced me...the last time we saw each other...the last time I failed her._

_"Oh, Gisellllllle." A haughty, arrogant voice sing-songs and the door bursts open. I remember that voice from the night of my injury._

_Cyril de Montfort saunters into the room and I glance outside the window, watching as the sky begins to take on the rosy hue of sunset. Giselle rises, alarm in her eyes as she squares off against the man who is not only taller and stronger, but a blooded noble, the son of a man too powerful for his own good._

_I once met Duke Prosper de Montfort, and found him an imbecilic waste of humanity. I could not imagine that the son he fathered would be anything unlike the man who raised him._

_"Get out of her, Cyril." Giselle orders, standing firm, casting a figure of command and confidence. "I am in the midst of consultation with a patient, and your presence is not warranted."_

_"Oh, I think it is." He says, snide. "Mother Dorothea told me of her agreement with you. The sun is setting and I am to return to my place as your pupil, though it **will** be under different circumstances. For the first, you will address me as Lord de Montfort, as you **should have** from the beginning. Second..."_

_"You will seal your lips and Get. Out." Giselle commands, and the steel in her tone is frightening. "The sun has not yet set, and I have not yet failed."_

_"You think I will continue to listen to the snubs and jibes of a **half-elf**?" Cyril demands. "It seemed a game at first, but I have long since fallen out of love with your **invalid**  superior attitude towards me. It. Ends. Now. Giselle."_

_"It ends when I say it does, and not a moment before!" Giselle's eyes are fire, green and radiant and terrifying. I continue to shrink away, until Cyril commits a further transgression._

_His hand lashes out, catching Giselle across the cheek, his heavy signet ring breaking skin. The physician falls to her knees from the impact and Cyril looms above her, kicking her in the shoulder, leaving her sprawled on the ground._

_" **This** is as it should be." He claims. "With you in a position of submission and fealty before me. You are not fit to lick the dirt from my boots, Giselle. Stand up." She does not comply, instead breathing heavily and placing her hand against her bloodied cheek. " **Stand. Up.** " The lordling orders again. _

_Giselle remains motionless and Cyril reaches down, grasping her lovely golden hair and wrenching her to her knees. Fear settles in the pit of my stomach and coils to a knot of wrath and fire. I had known a stronger person's blows, their fists in my hair, their body invading where it had no right._

_**No one deserves such treatment. And I...I will not watch as the one person who has shown me any kindness suffers at the hands of another.** _

_I grit my teeth and rise from the bed with fluid, bardic grace. I curl my hand into a fist and plant it with as much force as I can muster at the base of Cyril's breastbone. He grasps and his hand releases Giselle as he falls to his knees, struggling to breathe. I bring my knee up under his chin and snap his head backwards, rendering him confused, but not unconscious._

_My lungs burn with breaths that are too heavy. "You," I rein in my voice, feeling my tone drip with black ice, "will **not** lay a hand on her."_

_"Do you... **know**...who I am?" Cyril rasps, attempting to get to his feet, falling on his backside instead. _

_"Yes." I go to one knee, looking him direct in the eye, knowing that my gaze is filled with the blood I have shed and the deeds I have done. "I **kill** your kind."_

_Blood drains from his face and he scrabbles backwards. I rise to my feet, shaky, following him as he flees the room and slams the door behind him. I lean heavily on the door, breathing in ragged gasps, watching black stars burst before my vision. My muscles spasm with the pain of too much activity, too much exertion from a body still so damaged. I collapse against the door and slide down it until I am crumpled on the floor in a ball of pain and tremors._

_"Kathyra?" Giselle cries from across the room. "Kathyra!?"_

_I hear her get to her feet and run to me, the rush of air over her skin as she kneels down at my side. "Are you all right? Kathyra, look at me. Are you all right?"_

_I stare at my shaking hands as bile rises in my throat, thinking of how easily I had, even wounded, driven Cyril to the ground and instilled in him a fear for his life. It is my one skill, the taking of life, the inspiring of fear. It is all I have to turn to the moment I leave the Chantry and embark on life anew._

_"I do not want this any longer." I whisper, watching as the setting sun paints my hands the scarlet hue of blood._

_"Kathyra?"_

_I look towards the sound of her voice, to the light in her viridian eyes, the absolute purity shining from her, despite her bruised and bloodied cheek, her tousled golden tresses._

_"Gi...Giselle." I push myself further against the door, hissing through my teeth as the pain returns. "L...let it be me. Teach me...apprentice me."_

_Tears line the bottoms of her eyes and one falls, cutting a clear path through the blood on her skin...purifying it again. "Yes." Her voice is filled with quiet joy. "Of course, yes. But you should be in bed, Kathyra. Please, let me help you."_

_"All right." I accept, knowing that the favor I ask of her will require more touch between us, her hands on mine, teaching, guiding._

_Giselle fits her arm around my waist and I stand on watery legs, staggering towards the bed and collapsing onto it with a groan. The physician eases me into a comfortable position and pulls the covers over me. Her movements are swift and efficient and before long the pain of movement is dwindling and I am able to breathe easier._

_"Thank you, Kathyra." Giselle takes advantage of the moment and smoothes my hair away from my face with a quick, though tender, movement._

_**Do not thank me, Giselle,** I want to tell her the truth, that I have not been fair in asking this favor of her. **I have asked you to do something that none have never managed...nor ever will they.**_

_**Save me, Giselle. Please, please save me.** _


	8. Fragments to Piece Together

**Kathyra  
**

_"That is excellent work." Giselle kneels beside me and examines the sutures I have just completed._

_Her eyes smile when she looks at me, her eyes, but nothing else. A furious blush creeps into my cheeks at the approval and I duck my head, uncertain of how to deal with the emotion her expression incites within me. The expression of pride and satisfaction. That same pride once dwelt in Leron's mud-brown eyes and, in them, terrified me. I am not afraid of Giselle...at least...I do not believe I am._

_The physician's eyes move to my patient, a young elven woman. Giselle smiles at her and immediately, the patient's tense demeanor relaxes and she even offers a timid smile in return._

_"Do you feel better?" Giselle asks, and the elf nods. The physician rests her hands on the patient's knee and I wince, wishing with vain hope that I might someday allow such a casual caress; that the touch of another might not make me shrink away, or remember the nightmare I somehow escaped. "Good." Giselle continues. "Now, and tell me true, for you are safe here, did you lie when you told me that you cut your hand on broken glass?"_

_"Yes, lay sister." The elf's lips quiver. "I swear it."  
_

_Giselle frowns. "Very well, my dear, but remember, there are always kinder masters who could use someone of your skill. The Empress has laws set in place that protect slaves and, no matter what your masters say, you can always seek sanctuary within the Chantry. Do you understand?"_

_"Yes." My patient nods again._

_Giselle helps the woman to her feet and places a small jar in her uninjured hand. "This is a salve. Rub it on the wound at least twice daily, to help prevent infection. If infection should come, return here immediately. If not, return in a fortnight and we will remove the stitches." Giselle's eyes fill with some indiscernible pain. "Creators guide and keep you."_

_"Th...thank you." The elf stammers, overwhelmed, as I have found myself to be the past month, by the enormity of Giselle's kindness._

_"Think nothing of it." Giselle walks our patient to the door and I watch as the young elf woman departs._

_Giselle closes the door, sighing and sagging against it, as though drained. I notice that she seems pale, and I wonder if it is due to more than the strenuous work of the day. I hope that it is not. I have met many of the other physicians here. None are as capable or as knowledgeable as Giselle, but they all treat her with disdain, as though her presence and instruction is a burden on them. I know it is because of her heritage, and that makes me despise those who persecute her._

_"Giselle, are you all right?" I ask, rising and washing the blood from my hands, looking away as I always must, lest the sight remind me of times not too long past, when the blood on my skin meant I had taken life, not preserved it._

_"I'm quite tired." She replies, straightening and arranging the Chantry robes she is forced to war. "But nothing to cause concern."_

_I am still worried, but I do not show it. I do not show that I desire to go to her, take her face in my hands, and assess her condition. But I cannot. It is easier to touch a patient, a complete stranger in need of aid. But, with Giselle...it would be different._

**_There would be...intimacy? The way she looks at me, with such tenderness and concern...it strikes a spark in a soul too long cold, but I cannot dare to believe it; I cannot dare to pursue it. I have only ever been broken by those who offered me a gentle touch. She is different, though. What she has given me, her kindness, her belief, her compassion, she gives to all who see her. I am her student, nothing more._ **

     _"You are well-suited to this, you know." Giselle speaks, closer to me than before. I flinch at her nearness and almost curse aloud when I see the apologies in her eyes._

_"I have an excellent teacher." I mumble the compliment and pre-occupy myself with drying my hands._

" ** _That_** _you do." Giselle smiles and somehow the day is a little brighter than it was before. "But you also have gentle hands, Kathyra, and a manner that sets people at ease. It took Cyril six months to acquire the knowledge you have gained in one."_

_"I am...I am accustomed to learning quickly." I mutter, letting my hair shield my face, afraid that she will see the ghosts of bruises and blood through which I earned my talents._

_"I see." Giselle replies, careful, unwilling to ask the questions I can see swarming behind her eyes._

_One month, and I have still told her nothing of my past._ **_And again,_ ** _I chastise myself,_ **_fear is the culprit. If such a good woman knew who I was_ ** **_and what I have done...she would surely terminate what she has given me. A chance at a new life. I am...I am too selfish. I want this; I want to be able to help...to save._ **

_"Why...why did you ask the patient if her story was true?" I wonder, guiding the subject away from the uncomfortable topic of my silence._

_Giselle's lips purse in a frown. "You've no idea the amount of elven slaves that enter these doors, suffering from a beating at their master's hands." Her voice heats with anger and her eyes flash with wrath. "I...I_ **_hurt_ ** _for their ignorance, Kathyra. It is true what I said, that the Empress has laws in place that govern the treatment of slaves, but most of the city elves here are illiterate, and they are kept so by their bloodthirsty masters. They have no way of learning that they are protected. I have an obligation to protect them, to help them. They...they are my people."_

_"Do you not harbor hatred for their masters?" I ask, intrigued by her use of words. "The depravity of the race of men does not affect you?"_

_Giselle sighs and gazes into the distance. "I am only in a position to help others because of my human blood and heritage." She rationalizes, as one who has thought deeply over the matter might. "I am part and parcel with two races...pinned between two cultures and ways of life. And I grieve for the horrors wrought...but I do what I can to help."  
_

_The sorrow in her voice calls to me, begging for an answer, a wound, naked and crying out to be healed. As has been happening more and more often, my lips part and I find words springing to my lips that, in my rational mind, I would not speak.  
_

_"I...I do not know if this will help, but...but elves are not the only ones enslaved by cruel masters. Men...men have met this fate themselves. What you do, what you are teaching me to do...it is more than you realize."_

_Giselle smiles, but her expression becomes faraway and I can see questions once again aligning behind her eyes, an answer coming to the forefront. My heart begins to hammer in my chest; my gut twists in fear._

_"You...you were a slave?" She asks. I take a step backward and her eyes fill with anguish. "Kathyra, no, please...please don't run. I...I will not ask any more questions, I swear it. Please," she reaches out, pulling her fingers back with a look of pain as she sees the pallor of my skin._

_**Stay,** I fight ever instinct I possess to merely hold my ground. **It has been a month, and she has done nothing to earn your distrust. Stay. Hear her out.**_

_"In...in a manner..." I stutter, beginning to tremble as the confession burns on the tip of my tongue. "I...I was apprentice to...to a cruel man."_

_"Is he the one who stabbed you?" Giselle inquires, keeping her voice even and low, though I read her body: the narrowing of her gaze, the idle flexing of her fingers...she is **angry**. On my behalf?_

_"No." I shake my head, dizzied by the waves of emotion, of forcibly repressed memories that come screaming to the forefront. "I...I need...a moment alone. F...forgive me, Giselle."_

_I attempt to control myself so that I do not outright flee from her presence. My hand shakes as it grasps the door and I grip it, attempting to calm my breathing and settle my nerves._

_"Kathyra," Giselle calls, quiet, "will...will you ever tell me who it was?"_

_I lean my head against the door as tears pound like drums behind my eyes. "Yes." I reply. "Someday, I will tell you."_

_"Kathyra, forgive me, but I...I have to know. Are you...are you safe from him? Are you safe here?"_

_I turn my eyes to her, startled to see that there are tears within them. "I am...I am safe with you, Giselle."_

_I leave the room before she can reply and I sag against the door, letting free a shuddering breath. But my heartbeat calms as it realizes that I told her the truth. I do feel safe with her. But I fear that if I tell her of my past, of the circles in which I had traveled, that she would no longer feel safe with me. And that...that terrifies me beyond telling._


	9. Fleeing My Self

**Kathyra**

     "What do we do now?" Kestrel asked, her voice carrying the fine edge of exhaustion. 

     I turned my head to see her and Leliana leaning against the wall of the cabin, both of them staring into separate distances, pasts, and even different presents. 

     "We wait. We pray. We endure." Leliana rested her hand on Kestrel's knee. "This is a moment and a time you will face all too often, should you persist as a templar. Lives are lost in battle. Those...those we love are tormented by the spectre of death as it haunts their every waking moment...it rests in their eyes and looks out, a prophesy to the world of what we can never escape."

      _How deep is your capacity for love,_ I wondered as I listened to her words, words tinged by grief and hope and desperate, fragile memories.  _How can you look into the eyes I saw that night in Highever, eyes that chilled me to my core, so cold were they, so rife with death's own essence?_

     "I...I could see that happen to her." Kestrel looked to Rylie's sleeping form. "I'll do anything, Leliana, _anything_ to see that she retains her joy...her innocence."

     "While that is admirable, she will not thank you for it." Leliana cautioned. "Keep her joy and her innocence within you, locked in your memory, safe and secure...for the moment when she needs it most. It is...it is so easy to lose your way in the world, whether soldier or templar, noble or bard."

     "You speak as one who has lost their way." Kestrel observed.

     Instead of hanging her head, Leliana lifted her chin, resolute, unafraid, _staggeringly_ beautiful. "So many times." She agreed. "But not just my way...I lost myself. Until that moment, that moment where I looked upon one who reminded me of all that I _desired_ to be, who let me learn and accept parts of who I was that I thought worthy of revulsion."

     "The one with death in her eyes?" Kestrel asked, showing her eerie powers of perception.

     "The one who walks with death as a friend, harboring it...never letting it touch her." Leliana's tone lightened and turned wistful, layered with hints of longing.

     _Death touches us all...and stays its hand from none...not even the best of us._

     I could feel death near me, close enough to reach out and touch. But I...I wanted to live. I wanted to live, because I had seen that though death had touched the one who taught me to love, to live...such a love was still present in this world. It dwelt in Leliana's ocean blue eyes, the touch of her callused and scarred hands, the heart that had been torn open...one time too many. The heart that knew the true definition of sacrifice; that it was not death...but living in love, no matter the ultimate cost.

* * *

_Giselle leans on the handle of a broom, yawning and rolling her shoulders. The clinic is quiet for the first time since the sun rose this morning. It is long after sunset, and I can feel the fatigue pressing in on me, as it must be on her as well._

_"Sit down." I take the broom from her and the corners of my lips turn upwards, through no will of my own. "I'll finish the floors."_

_"You don't need to do that." Giselle shakes her head, but another yawn gives her away. "We've both worked too hard today."_

_" **You** worked." I tug the broom away from her, grinning as she throws up her hands in defeat. "I merely handed you things and observed."_

_"Learning is the most exhausting of pursuits." Giselle pulls her hair back and ties it, revealing the delicate points of her ears, something she often keeps concealed._

_Her features are decidedly human; it is only the tips of her ears and the color of her eyes that give her heritage away. In order to keep our human patients at ease, she leaves her hair in place to cover evidence of elven descent. I find that this disturbs me on a level too intimate for comfort. There is nothing about Giselle that should be kept hidden, nothing about her that warrants reproach or concealment._

_"Be that as it may, you work yourself to exhaustion each and every day." I begin sweeping the floor, turning away and hiding my face and the color stealing over my cheeks._

_Her nearness, her voice, those **eyes**...they spark feelings in me that have no name. A flutter in my heart, a tightness in my throat, a thrumming in my pulse that is not fear, but something very like it. _

_The door of the clinic bursts open and a huge, hairy brute of a man enters, leading a young boy who can be nothing more than eleven or twelve years old, by the shoulder._

_"Do something." He growls. "Boy here broke his arm."_

_Giselle straightens and the exhaustion flows away from her as concern lights her eyes. I have worked with her long enough to know that the injury of a child is close to her heart._

_"This way, ser." She keeps her voice even, but I see the glare in the man's eyes._

_"Ain't no knife-ear gonna touch my boy." The father growls and Giselle takes a step back, uncertain of what to do. All of the other healers have departed from the evening...except...except me._

_"Forgive me, ser." I walk forward, hoping that Giselle will forgive me this use of my bardic talents, the ability to wear any skin I require. "My servant was merely attempting to expedite progress, for efficiency's sake. Please allow us to tend to your son."_

_Giselle stares at me with a mixture of awe and confusion, wondering who I am. My voice rings with false confidence, as I slip into a role, take on a new persona, a skill I honed to razor-edged perfection beneath Leron's torturous tutelage. I lead the boy to one of the beds and Giselle fetches the appropriate tools, two flat pieces of board and strong linen for bandaging._

_I look at the boy's left arm, wincing at the awkward angle, the dark purple of the bruising around his wrist, not consistent with the location of the break. His eyes are frightened, flitting from me, to his father, to Giselle, and back to me. There are tear-streaks on his face, not unusual from the pain of a broken bone...but the child is quiet now, and does not seem the type to cry from pain._

_"What happened to cause the injury?" I inquire, looking at the boy._

_"Fell out of a tree." The father states, but he does not meet my eyes, and the boy's body tenses, his spine going rigid._

_Giselle lays the supplies out on the edge of the bed and I catch her eyes. "I need to talk to you." I whisper, and she nods, following me into the adjacent room where the clinic's supplies are kept._

_"Kathyra, what is it?" she asks, quiet. "You look positively wrathful."_

_"That boy did not break his arm in the manner his father said." I reply, my voice trembling. "I have seen bones broken in that same way many times...and his wrist is badly bruised. "_

_"His wrist might have been bruised when he broke his fall..." Giselle begins, but I shake my head and her eyes narrow. I normally cede diagnoses to her. But not this time. "Tell me how."_

_"It...it is not easily described." I hesitate, but she offers herself, opening her arms._

_"Show me, then."_

_My mouth goes dry as I step behind her and firmly grasp her forearm, near the wrist, and, in a smooth motion, I pull her arm behind her back. I am careful not to apply the true force of this technique. Even so, Giselle gasps in pain and I relinquish her wrist, feeling guilt wash over me. She rubs her arm, shuddering, and I know that she felt exactly where the bone might be broken...exactly where the break is in the boy's arm._

_"Who...who would do that to a child?" she asks, rolling her shoulder, looking at me with the slightest hint of fear in her gaze._

_**Who would do that to anyone?**_ _I wonder, heaping recriminations on myself._ **_Except for me..._ **

_"Most often, the one who conceives the lie is the reason behind it." I mumble, remembering the countless lies that can be attributed to me._

_"Oh no." Giselle leans against the doorway and lightly thumps her forehead. "The father?"_

_"That is my only assumption." I state._

_Giselle pushes herself back from the doorway, gathering her composure with a deep inhale. "You know enough to set the bone and splint the arm." She says. "I will return shortly."_

_"Where..."_

_"Take care of the patient." Giselle orders, her voice more stern and cold than ever I have heard it._

_I nod and return to the infirmary, forcing myself to smile for the sake of the boy, whose face is pale with pain and fear. I sit beside him and attempt not to notice the aura of hostility emanating from his father. I feel along the bone, finding the point of the break, sighing in relief as I realize it will not need to be set._

_I splint the wound, admiring the boy's bravery as he makes not a sound. As I tie the last knot of bandaging, the clank of armor echoes across the stone floor and I glance up, shocked to see Giselle standing between two of Val Royeaux's city guards._

_"Take him for questioning." She says, and one of the templars takes the boy's father in hand, leading him from the room._

_"What the hell are you doing!?" He shouts, struggling in the templar's grasp. "You knife-eared bitch! That's my son! You will **pay** for this, I swear by the Maker!"_

_The boy's eyes widen as a guard kneels before him, smiling affably. "How is your arm?" he asks, sounding kind._

_"It doesn't seem to hurt as much, ser." The boy stammers, looking up at his father, who is being dragged away. "Why are you taking my father?"_

_"You are in the house of the Maker, son." The guard says. "No falsehood can dwell here, so tell me true. Did your father hurt you? Is he the one that broke your arm?"_

_The boy bites his lower lip and my heart goes out to him. I watch him grapple with protecting the man who hurt him, or gaining the chance to be free from that abuse._

_"Yes." He nods, choosing the more difficult option. To attempt to find freedom. "But I don't mind it. If he hurts me, he doesn't hurt my mother or sisters."_

_"Heavens, hells, and angels." I hiss, quickly removing myself from the situation._

_I cannot bear the thought of a child subjected to the same manner of suffering that I endured. I cannot remain and see in him the prayerful, frightened, bleeding hope that his sacrifices and wounds would buy respite for those he wishes to protect. I know that hope. For me, and in me, it died._

_I watch as the guardsman asks a few more questions before patting the boy on the shoulder and helping him to his feet. "Sister Giselle, I am escorting young David home. His mother will be worried for him."_

_"Of course." Giselle tries to smile. "Thank you."_

_The guardsman and the child leave the clinic. Giselle and I turn towards each other, witnessing the tears in each other's eyes._

_"I wouldn't have known." Giselle whispers, and I see that her hands are shaking. "Kathyra...I wouldn't have known. I would have let his father take him back...back to that...back...oh Maker, no."_

_Giselle flings herself at me, wrapping her arms around my waist and holding me close. The reaction beings, the burning, the fear, the need to run. But I feel the trembling of her body as she weeps, and I realize that she needs this, that even though she is **so** strong, strength can fade. _

_Hesitant, slow, I wrap my arms around her and pull her closer to me, inhaling the scent of herbs and sunlight in her hair, screaming at myself a silent order. To believe that **this** is all right, that **all** will be well. _

_"You saved his life, Kathyra." Giselle whispers. "You saved that young boy's life...I would have failed him."_

_"It...it isn't your fault, Giselle." I assure her._

_"Yes it is and I..." She removes her head from my chest and stares at me, realizing what she has done. Alarmed, she pulls away. "Oh. **Fuck**. Kathyra, I'm sorry. I should never have...I was just so overwhelmed and...wait...one moment." Her green eyes spark and narrow in my direction. "How did you know? Kathyra, how did you know that his injuries were caused by that particular technique?"_

_I do not know how to explain. I do not know how to inform. All I know is that I can lie...but I do not want to lie. Not to the woman who is saving me and who cares for me. I cannot lie. I cannot hide. This time, I do not fight._

_I run._


	10. Turning My Back

**Kathyra**

_I flee out into the storm-battered night, feeling the shadows embrace me with the warmth of an old friend. They cling to my skin, clawing at it, demanding entrance and to stain my soul. All that I once was crashes in on me with the force of a battle axe. I feel my ribs splitting in my chest, even though I am not wounded._

_**Is it ever enough,** I wonder as I watch rainwater puddle in my cupped hands. In my mind's eye it is red, thick, scented with copper and salt, a damning color and stench that defines my very being. **I could live a thousand years and never undo the darkness that I have brought into this world.**_

_I aimlessly wander the streets and back alleys of Val Royeaux, thinking of Giselle. How fierce she could be, balanced against the vulnerability that few bore witness to. I heard the whispers of the other Chantry brothers and sisters, the bigotry and colored opinions. I saw the frown creasing Mother Dorothea's brows whenever her gaze lit on the half-elven physician._

_**But she gives so much,**_ _I attempt to make sense of the situation. **Those of all races and all heritages...she turns no one away. She embodies all of the Chantry's teachings and yet she i**_ _**s despised.** _

_My heart aches as lightning flashes overhead. I take in my surroundings, feeling electric pulses of warning through every nerve as I realize that my dizzied mine has brought me here. I stand outside of Leron's home. Even in the downpour, I can smell the odor of lyrium and poppies._

_**My feet must have brought me here for a purpose,** I glance around in fear, looking for familiar faces, seeing no one. **Am I not meant for a better life...than the one I knew here?**_

_I place my hand near my mouth and fight the desire to retch as I ease closer to the lit window. Leron is seated before the fire; an emaciated, ill-looking prostitute sits at his feet, her head in his lap, dirty brown eyes glazed with the effects of the drug and the tell-tale silvery sheen of Leron's mind magic. He idly runs his hands through her hair and my body shudders, remembering those hands on me, their ultimate cruelty being their pretense of gentleness._

_Marjolaine sits opposite my torturer, her raven hair catching the firelight. She wears the smile of a contented cat, and I tremble as I look into her eyes. They are dead, flat; absorbing the light of the flames into themselves and reflecting nothing._

_**You could go back,** a darker voice whispers, the voice that sends fear spiraling through me at Giselle's touch, that whispers doubt into my mind when I stand on the precipice of full disclosure. **You could return to the life that was, perhaps, meant for you. No more fear, for nothing will have changed. No more would the overwhelming light of her presence drag you through guilt and self-recrimination. In fact, Leron could remove all memory of Giselle and her kindness. No more haunting whispers of her voic** **e; no more promises that would break if you revealed yourself to her. Think of it, Kathyra...never again would those green eyes scorch your very soul.**_

_I trace the lines of mortar between the bricks, remembering the first time I set foot in the house that became my hell. So much was different then. Leron had seemed a kind soul, taking in two orphans, promising shelter and sustenance and safety. Marjolaine had been weak, frail, and lost child; wide eyes filled with terror and exhaustion._

_Tears sting my eyes as I look through the window; as I examine the woman my sister has become. A month has passed since the night she drove her blade in me. I still feel the pain of the wound. That has not changed. In so short a time, Marjolaine has become a woman I do not recognize as my own flesh and blood. She is so beautiful that it strikes fear in my heart but beyond the veil of her beauty is a hollow darkness; a bottomless pit._

_**She will slaughter by the scores,** I think, watching her ruby lips curl upward into a canny smile. **She is the consummate actress...and I am the one who allowed her to become such a thing. The one who did not notice her descent into darkness. Perhaps, if I return** **to this, I can save her. I can believe that it was naught but a misunderstanding. I can forgive the scar.**_

_"Wipe that ridiculous smile from your face." Leron orders, the lines around his mouth and his eyes deepening as he glares at my sister. "You have no cause to rejoice."  
_

_"Au contraire." Marjolaine aligns the tips of her fingers and rests them on her chin. "A month has gone by with no word and no sighting. If Kathyra still lives, she will not bestir herself to act against us. She is too afraid."_

_"I had my men scour the city, seeking her out. There is nothing, not even in the houses of the dead." Leron's eyes flash and his fingers fist in the unfortunate harlot's hair...but she is beyond the pain, lost to the deep dreaming of poppy syrup. "But that does not mean that Kathyra does not live, pretty thing." He sneers and swipes a finger across the harlot's brow. Her eyes snap open and she stares around in confusion, much to the amusement of Leron and Marjolaine. My heart froze._

_**I remember that place,** I shiver from the rain and the memories. **Waking with welts on my back and blood on my thighs and no knowledge...no remembrance of anything but numbness.**_

_"I returned." Marjolaine rises and stands behind Leron's chair, leaning down and lacing her arms across his chest. "The body was gone, but I saw the blood with my own eyes. She lost too much, Leron. You taught me well."_

_The demon of my past smiles and his lips are too thin and his teeth are too sharp. "It is the Long Game, pretty thing." He says, his voice mellow and sweet, like aged whiskey. "Your sister was...so eager to please. So desperate to protect. I molded her as easily as a child molds cheap clay. You, Marjolaine, were my true work of art." He slides his free hand along Marjolaine's arm and bile rises in my throat as I stand there, unable to look away from the sickening tableau before me._

_"The world will tremble before us." Marjolaine claims. "Especially now that Kathyra and her pesky conscience are permanently out of our way. How you possessed the patience to endure her worthlessness for the years you did will always amaze me."_

_The scar in my side flares, the pain as sharp and heated as it was when my sister shoved my own knife into my flesh. Her words should not be able to wound me, not after her betrayal of me, permanently stamped into my flesh...but they do. They cut deep, opening a wound that cannot bleed and will not kill, but destroys all the same._

_"No regrets, then?" Leron asks, and my heart catches in my throat._

_I wait, realizing that, when Marjolaine answers, I will have the truth. I will know the answer to the question that has haunted me since I regained conscious thought after the attack. I will know if Marjolaine suffered for her actions against me...even a little._

_My little sister... **laughs**. It is all that is calculated, all that is cold, and all that is bitter. "Regrets?" She smiles through the question. "I had grown **so** weary of self-restraint, so_ **_bored_** _of pretending innocence. I do not regret my freedom, Leron. I do not even notice her absence."_

_Blood drains from my face and my gut twists with enough ferocity to double me over. I feel...I feel a part of me shattering into fine shards of glass and as it falls it rips through my skin._

_**I can no longer believe it to be a misunderstanding...** I sink to my knees in the dirty, bloodstained, secret-scarred streets of Val Royeaux. **Even had I not drawn my blade, my life would have been forfeit. It was not self-defense...it was not fear for life. It was...it was pre-meditated. Leron had full control over her for so long and I never saw! How did I not see!?** _

_I grip the brick of the house, using it to pull myself to my feet. I look in through the window once more, in time to see Leron tilting his head up. Marjolaine leans down and Leron's lips envelop her own. It is a sloppy, disgusting kiss, and I know that it tastes of ash, old leather, and lyrium._

_**No!** My thoughts scream out from deep within a part of me that will never cease caring for my little sister. The part of me that will never cease to love her. **Do not let him touch you! Please, Marjolaine, remember who you were! Remember the intelligent, sweet, charming younger sister who I fought for. Please!** _

_Marjolaine shifts further into the hideous kiss, her hands slowly moving across Leron's chest, cupping his chin and the back of his head in a manner I know all too well. I close my eyes and turn away as her body moves with the speed of lightning. My throat tightens as I hear the wet snap of bone. It resonates in my hearing, even through the sound of the rain._

_I take no comfort in knowing that my tormentor is dead. There is no relief or resolution in the sickening crack of death. The one who rises to his throne is far more dangerous; far more deadly. She has grown into herself, protected by me, protected by Leron. Marjolaine has been kept so safe, so unassailed. She has become invincible somehow...and she will not rule the shadows through fear, as Leron did, but through love. I can see her future in her beauty and her cunning. It terrifies me._

_**For who would not love her?** I force myself to watch as Marjolaine shoves Leron forward, onto the floor, his head twisted at a nauseating angle. My sister glares at the intoxicated harlot and sighs as though inconvenienced. **Who would not love a woman so strong in her beliefs, so convinced of her own immortality, and able to promise all followers the same? Is this the price I pay, little sister? Must I fear everything I face while you walk on, unmoved? Must I doubt every kindness shown me while you rule the court of shadows from your golden, bloodstained throne?**_

_Pain twists in my chest like a flame-drenched knife. Marjolaine lifts her eyes and I duck below the window._

_"Is anyone there?" Her voice rings above the sound of the rain and I cringe, curling my frozen fingers into desperate fists._

_The door opens and I dart around the corner, inhaling the fetid stench of the alley mixing with the glorious smell of petrichor. I lean against the wall, attempting to silence my breathing, to meld with the night. Marjolaine's seductive tones drift on the wind._

_"Who is there?" She calls. "I mean you no harm. I promise."_

_**I mean you no harm. I promise.** The words replay in my mind, but not in Marjolaine's molten accent. The voice speaking in my mind is airy and light, honest and kind, afraid of nothing. **Giselle.**_

_I stand in the shadows, knowing that everything has changed. Leron would have accepted me...punishment would have been dealt, but I would have lived. But the court of shadows holds nothing but death for me now. Death at the hands of the one for whom I would have given my life._

_Memories of the month spent with Giselle flash through my thoughts, the warmth, the encouragement, the security of her presence, the instructions of how to heal._

_**And I remember every day, sweet and peaceful,** relief fills me as the door closes, sealing my demon within my hell. **I...I have been shown a different way of life...and...and...I want to see where it will lead.**_

_I slip away from my former home, returning to the Chantry, to Giselle...and I am afraid. I am afraid, but I will attempt to face it._

_**No matter...no matter the pain I must endure. No matter the cost of my confessions.**_


	11. I Beg You to Forgive Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Mentions of rape and sexual abuse.

**Kathyra**

_**Please be awake.**  
_

_I am close to begging as I knock, struggling to control my shaking hand and make as little noise as possible when I knock on Giselle's door. My clothes are soaked through and I am shivering from cold. My lungs burn when I breathe, and my side feels ripped open anew. There is no response, and I knock again, daring to strike with more force._

_The door opens and I drown in a field of green. Her gorgeous eyes take me in. They are brighter than they have ever been, rimmed with red, as though she has been crying. I feel as though they are stripping away the layers of silence and leaving me naked before her. Naked, with my eyes covered in nightmares and my hands stained a permanent shade of crimson._

_"Inside, this instant." She orders, but her voice is not harsh._

_Her tones are low, worried, and hoarse. Her eyes are rimmed red and they look swollen, as though she has been weeping. Giselle reaches out for my hand, but pulls away...both of us are so uncertain. Something has changed between us; the surety of our former steps and former words shared is all but forsaken. There is so much that she does not know; there is so much to say...and I am terrified._

_"Do not simply stand there!" She chastises, but her words are still thick with anxiety, fueling the volume and heat behind her speech. "You will catch your death. Come near the fire, and take off your clothes. You're shivering so badly I might believe the earth is quaking."_

_I stumble towards the warmth of the hearth, but my fingers refuse to obey me as I fumble with the soaked leather laces of my shirt. I am too numb, to stunned by all that I have borne witness to. Instead of struggling further with the laces, I cease persevering and let my hands fall away._

_"What in hell were you thinking?" Giselle reappears from the shadows of the room, burdened with blankets._

_"I...I did not really..." The words come out punctuated with stutters and end with light coughing._

_"Maker and Creators colliding. You're a veritable mess, Kathyra." Giselle throws the blankets on a nearby chair and moves to stand before me. "First things first," Her voice is even and measured, the voice she uses when assessing a patient, "we have to get you warm." She bites her lower lip and her eyes look wet in the firelight. "Let me help you." This is not her physician's voice, but a plea from a heart to a heart, a mind to a mind._

_My teeth are chattering and the shivers wracking me are becoming more violent. I nod in lieu of speaking. Giselle's small, delicate hands grasp the hem of my shirt and she lifts it, slow, baring my soaked, trembling body to the air. She is careful not to let her hands graze my skin. The boundaries that were forgotten earlier when we embraced are now once more in place. I do not know if I am grateful for it._

_She tosses the shirt near the fire and looks at me, white and shivering, half-naked and so very, very vulnerable. She locks her eyes with mine, holding them, reassuring me in a silent exchange as her hands reach for the lacings of my trousers, carefully untying the leather and easing the ties apart. gentle, hesitant, she peels away the soaked material, her eyes never leaving mine as she removes the clothing from my body. I step out of the garment and she tosses it in the same direction as the shirt._

_Immediately she stands, reaching for the blanket, stopping and hanging her head before her fingers close around it._

_"Kathyra, I am sorry." She breathes, turning her eyes to mine once more. "It has only been a month. Your lungs are still weak from your injury...I need to listen to your breathing. You...damn it, you have to be all right."_

_"F...Forgive me." I grit my teeth as she steps nearer, attempting to recall my resolution, to fortify myself and begin to heal. I can't run anymore._

_**I have nothing but death to return to,** I remind myself. **And though pain is found in living, it is proof of life.** _

_Giselle leans in and places her delicate, pointed ear against my chest. I attempt to still the shivering, to let her do her work. The strangest of sensations overwhelms me as quiet pervades the room. The urge to reach out, run my fingers through her tresses of molten gold, inhale the scent of her skin. against my will, my heart begins to beat faster._

_I am no stranger to this situation, but always before, I have known my duty. To play as subservient, to give into my companion's wishes, bend to their desires, sat their every whim. to indulge and deceive...I have given my body to depraved men and vindictive women, against my will and out of love. Love with no reciprocation. Love with betrayal as its ultimate end._

_But never...never have I thought of being the first to touch. My body has always been a weapon, never a gift...and now it is too damaged to be of any worth. I rein in my errant thoughts as Giselle moves away and wraps the blanket around me, ushers me into the chair, and pushes it closer to the warmth of the fire._

_"Your breathing is more labored than I'd like." She comments and turns her face, but not before I see what looks to be the faintest flush of pink in her cheeks. "Keep that blanket close; seal in your natural body heat."  The physician is back in full force and I discard my ridiculous notion of her feeling anything deeper._

_**She cares for me as her apprentice, possibly even her friend...but nothing more, and I am a fool to even consider it.**_

_Giselle returns a short time later, holding a steaming cup. She hands it to me and I accept, inhaling the pungent odor, looking to her for an answer._

_"You tell me." She smiles and sits on the hearthstone before the fire._

_The established pattern helps to settle my frayed nerves and I inhale the steam. "Eucalyptus." I answer. "Used to aid congested breathing."_

_"Very good." Giselle nods, but there is no light in her eyes as there has been the past month when I answered her inquiries correctly. She stares off into the distance, as though gathering her thoughts...as though summoning courage. "Kathyra...what am I doing wrong?"_

_Her inquiry takes me by surprise and I tighten my grip on the cup that nearly slipped from my grasp. "N...nothing."_

_She purses her lips and nods, drawing conclusions, fitting the puzzle together in her brilliant mind. "Then why do you run?" She asks. "I mean you no harm, I simply...I simply want to know you, and every time that I ask you the simplest of questions the blood leaves your face and, moments later, you are gone. I can but assume that you have no trust in me, when I have done nothing but attempt to prove myself worthy of it."_

_**You are** **worthy** , I want to tell her. **But I...I am not. And you will see that, the moment I reveal to you my weaknesses and doubts...my past.**_

_"I am afraid." I confess, hoping that it might be enough, for resolve weakens when I feel the comfort of her presence and bask in her care._

_"Reveal something I am unaware of." She chides, but not in anger. "I do not...Kathyra, I know very little about you, save for your name, and that you were once a servant of...some sort. But you...you fell into my life in a swirl of chaos and blood and then...then you saved me."_

_**I...saved...you?**_

_"From Cyril." She explains, seeing the questions in my eyes. "From having to distort my calling and my passion into some...some charade for a noble to make a pretense at in order to further his name by over-exaggerated good deeds. Such...such a thing would have broken my soul. And for that, Kathyra, for that gift alone...I am willing to give you anything to ask, for now I am free to do so. "_

_**Then do not ask for revelation,** the darker voice taunts me again. **Let it be as it was, w** **ith no truth between you. Keep your secrets well, for to divulge them is to draw death near you.**_

_I drink the last of the tea and look into the fire, watching the leaping flames, and willing myself to walk into them. I would do this for none other, but Giselle...Giselle has proven herself to be different._

_"I am a thief." I confess, feeling the iron bands of fear around my heart begin to groan as too much pressure is placed upon them. "I am a liar." More pressure and breathing becomes difficult. "I am a murderer and a whore." The bands fly apart, doubling me over in true, physical pain. Tears stream from my eyes and drip onto the floor and, even though I am warmer, I begin to tremble once again.  
_

_"What are you talking about?" Giselle asks and I hear her coming closer; feel the non-touch of her hand as it hovers above my shoulder._

_"D...don't look at me." I beg, unable to bear the gaze of her incendiary eyes. "Please...I...I couldn't bear it."_

_"Who did this to you?" She inquires, not moving, nor turning her eyes away. I can feel her gaze on my skin, kind and insightful, caring and questioning. "Kathyra, who..."_

_"The man who took me in." I groan as my gut twists in sharp, gnawing agony. "We...my sister and I...we were orphaned. My father and mother were killed before my eyes...and I covered hers...I covered hers and she didn't have to see..."_

_**Does that mean nothing to you, Marjolaine? Does it mean nothing that I shielded your gaze from the sight; stood before you as our mother's blood spattered across my cheek; took your hand and fled before those blades found us as well?**_

_"Blessed Creators." Giselle whispers, horror in her words. "Kathyra, it's all right. I..."_

_"No." The word is nearly a growl and I turn my eyes at last to hers, to let her see the feral **thing** that Leron created. "We lived on the streets for nearly a year, starving, frightened, running from the sounds in the night, fleeing from slavers and lechers and rogues. Marjolaine...my sister...she became ill that winter. We had no coin, no family...nothing. And then...like a deliverer prayed for, he appeared. He used his magic to hep keep her strong, and promised me he could save her...fucking **magic**." I spit the word in disgust, for it is something I have learned to revile. "I...I let my guard down. I was so grateful and so tired, and I answered his questions and accepted his offer of a home."_

_A soft gasp leaves Giselle's lips, and I know that she is seeing me in her mind's eye, a world-weary, terrified child, hoping against hope, believing against faith, and, at last, trusting._

_"It was so pleasant, those first few years." I look back on the happier times, of seeing Marjolaine free from fear, free from illness, clothed in beautiful dresses and embracing the joy of learning new things. "We were taught the fine arts: painting, singing, dance, poetry, tales, music. By that time, I would have done anything for him in gratitude. He had become our father...then everything changed."_

_I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat as my gut twists again and my heart aches as it pounds in my chest, remembering the fear, the sickened disgust...the first missing days._

_"One night...one night he came to me..." My voice trembles, "...naked and demanding and he...he stole from me everything I had. My virtue, my innocence, my conscience. He owned me completely and told me that I would do **everything** he asked or my sister would suffer the consequences."_

_"Goddess of mercy and healing." Giselle breathes, calling on a deity I have never before heard reference to. "What..."_

_"He put weapons in my hands." I stare down at the floor. "Trained me in their use and, when I mastered them, I learned his true nature. Kind of the shadows, lord of whispers, lord of lies...those who make and break kingdoms with no one the wiser. I drew blood." My hands begin to shake. "I broke bone. I killed and I deceived and I seduced until I could bear it no more. It was when I rebelled that he first used his magic. He tore into my mind and, at last, stole even that refuge from me. Every one of my thoughts was his, every word, every deed. It became a sick, twisted game...I would wake in strange places with blood on my hands, secrets locked away in my thoughts that only he could reach. And as he tore what he wanted from my mind he used me for his pleasure and, when he was sated, I was given to his friends as goods to be bartered. It took a year of pure, unadulterated hell, countless beatings, bruises, and rapes to earn his trust again."_

_"How?" I can see the tremors in Giselle's hands; can see how they long to reach out and comfort. But they are more hesitant now that they know the truth; now that they know how truly damaged I am. "How did you endure all of that."_

_"I..." There are tears, and my voice breaks, and my heart **hurts**. "...I couldn't let him hurt her." I gasp. "I could have endured **anything** so long as she was safe...but, as I discovered tonight...he lied to me."_

_"You," her skin pales," You went back to him? Kathyra, are you certain I have done you no wrong?"_

_"Yes." The fact that her voice still holds concern, still holds caring, bolsters me and gives me courage. "Fear makes us seek out the familiar. I have exploited that knowledge too many times to count. So I...I sought what I once knew...only to realize that I had been lied to, yet again. I thought my sister had been cared for, kept innocent. What I did not know is that it was **she** whom Leron desired all along. What I did not know was that, when he forced me to do his bidding, he **taught** her, **warped** her...destroyed the beautiful woman she could have been. You asked me once," I pressed my hand to my right side, where the flesh is still tender, "who dealt me this wound."_

_"I did." She nods._

_"My sister, Marjolaine, did this to me." I move out of the chair and huddle into myself on the floor, pulling the blanket around me like a shield. "the very night I bought my freedom and sold my body to him one final time...for her freedom as well. And she spat in my face and took my blade and nearly killed me with it."_

_The memory of that night washes over me in a sickening wave and I lurch to my feet and stagger to the chamber pot, dropping to my knees and retching until I have nothing left in me but grief and fear and exhaustion. I remain on my knees, shuddering, thinking of the lonely life ahead, when Giselle realizes what I am and turns me from her door, back to a life of death._

_"Here." The physician kneels beside me and extends a cup of water and a soaked cloth._

_I rinse the acid from my mouth and wash my face, keeping my eyes averted from Giselle's._

_"You need to rest, Kathyra." Giselle whispers, rising and offering me her hand. "Let me help you into bed."_

_I nod, but refuse her hand, not wanting to taint something so beautiful with my touch. I get to my feet and stumble to the bed, collapsing onto its soft surface with a groan. Giselle tucks the blankets around me, careful still that our skin does not brush one another's._

_"How?" I ask her as she sits on the edge of the bed, keeping a silent vigil. "How can you find kindness in your heart for one such as I? I...I have taken lives, Giselle. My hands are soaked with blood, my lips scarred with lies, my body defiled. That is who I am."_

_Giselle moves from the bed and kneels before me, tears shining like stars in her eyes. "Not as I see it." She tells me. "What you spoke to me of...that is who you **were** , Kathyra. Against **your** will, that is who you **were**."_


	12. The All-Important Question

**Kathyra**

    The soft creaking of the ship dragged me back to an unwilling awareness. My body felt drenched in flames, my skin uncomfortably tight. I opened my eyes and found my vision too bright, too keen, painting everything in stark clarity. It hurt. 

     _Where are you?_ I wondered, remembering the woman whose hands held my world, whose smile was my joy, whose words were my soul. _Are you happy? Do you miss me...or do you even recall that I exist? What is paradise? Is the land that is promised there fore us?_

     Thoughts that never before entered my mind berated me now as I stood on the delicate edge of mortality. _The Chant of Light never speaks of it...never says to what planes our souls journey when we die. The dwarves believe they return tot he Stone; the elves have their legends that Arlathan will be returned to them; men have their beliefs in the Golden City...but what is true? If our heavens are as separate as our races, where would one of two separate bloodlines dwell?_

     "There you are." Leliana's accent washed over me, cooling the fire in my blood and my mind. "You've been sleeping for so long. I was beginning to worry."

     _Worry? For me?_

     My lips trembled as tears lined my eyes. They were tears I could not afford to shed, a weakness that my injuries would take advantage of, carrying me closer to the precipice of eternity. But something made me want to hear Leliana's voice a little longer. To bear the pain for a bit more time.

     "I have...been dreaming." I said, wondering if this beautiful woman held the answers to my questions.

     _You have been so close to death, Leliana. Have you seen into the next world? Do you know what it holds? Will I be alone there as I am now alone? I do not want to be alone._

     Leliana's fingers drifted through my hair, the temperature of her skin normal, but a cooling balm on my fevered brow. Her hands and her touch were so different from Giselle's. My physician had small, delicate hands, strong but soft, able to impart her immense ability to comfort and heal. Leliana's had an archer's hands: long, tapering fingers, calluses along the top of her palm from gripping a dagger, scars across the index and middle finger from a bowstring. But, by some twist of demented fate, Leliana's hands, which I knew had dealt more death than mine, had equal capacity for healing and care.

     "Sweet dreams?" She asked me, her hand moving away, taking comfort, joy, and solace with it.

     "I'm not certain." I replied, coughing a little, hearing my breath rattle in my lungs. "Leliana...can bards have sweet dreams? Or are we doomed to a fate of instilling them in others?"

     She smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. "Oh no." She answered, and I began to drown in the ocean depths of her sparking eyes. "It is perhaps more difficult for us to find them, but when we do, bards must surely eclipse all other dreamers."

     "What of waking dreams?" I asked, feeling strangely contemplative as a woman who defied my perception of the world sat beside me in the strangest and most fraught of circumstances. "The thoughts that terrify us when we wake from sweeter dreaming?"

     "What troubles you, Kathyra?" Her fingers thread through mine, imparting a sense of camaraderie that I had never felt during my time with the Seekers.

     _Perhaps it is because Leliana and I share a past; that fate threaded our lives together...that her suffering was the last sin I committed, and the Maker truly does grant redemption._

     "What happens, Leliana?" My hands began to tremble. "After death?"

     "You are _not_ dying." She insisted, even though we both knew the truth.

     Time would not be kind. It never had been, not to me, taking that which was good too soon and leaving me with nothing. Nothing until... _Until Leliana entered my life, torn away from all that she loves, and still so kind, so graceful, so forgiving._

     "Be that as it may," I smiled, allowing her hope into my heart for a brief, flickering moment, "do you know?"

     Her hand left mine and she drew her knees towards her chest, wrapping her arms around them. It was a position I knew all too well, one of contemplation, self-protection...a subconscious shield.

     She laughed and it held a bitter note. "I suppose, at the end of the day, all we bards have are dreams, scars, and stories." She shook her head. "I do not rightly know, Kathyra...death has so many faces. It leaves the body locked in earthly sorrow, desperate terror, unfulfilled destiny...only once have I seen peace."

     _So you...you have seen such a thing as well? Was it a violent death? Was it sudden? Unexpected? Was it one that you loved?_

     "Can you tell me?" I hated the desperation in my voice, but the questions would not cease.

     I could not explain the sensation I felt; the feeling of Giselle's nearness, as though I had brought her from my thoughts and dreams; brought her back to me, back into the waking world. But the eyes I looked into were the deepest of blues, her hair the color of flames, not gold. It was their love that was the same. Selfless, without pretense, without judgement...without fear.

     "Salem." She whispered her wife's name with reverence, longing. "I watched her die, Kathyra." She brushed her cheeks, wiping away what I knew were tears. "She looked...so at ease, so blissful. I almost questioned the decision to save her life. She told me..." Leliana curled into herself further and my heart ached for her grief, "...she told me that she returned home, that her family surrounded and welcomed her. She told me that...that in death, all things that were stolen are once more returned."

     "I wonder." I voiced my thoughts aloud. "Does that ring true for all of us...or just those who are too good for this world?"

     "I do not know." Leliana replied, pensive, faraway. "I would like...I would like to think so. Being apart from her in life is so difficult...I cannot imagine an eternity alone."

     _Eternity alone...no. Such a fate is too cruel for one who carried such light and warmth within her. Giselle..._

     I shifted and the piece of wood in my side pressed deeper in. A cry I could not stifle ripped from my throat and left me coughing. Blood spilled into my mouth and coated my teeth, the scent of it staggering, the taste of it sickening. Leliana was at my side immediately, her tears forgotten, her grief discarded.

     "Hold on." She whispered, attempting to steady me through another paroxysm. "Keep strong. You will be all right, I promise."

     _You...damn it, you have to be all right._ Giselle's old words rang in my ears.

     "Not...not this time, I'm afraid." I gasped, letting hope be defeated.

     My vision blurred to two pinpoints of bright blue in the darkness. "Kathyra?" Leliana asked, worry in her voice. "Kathyra, stay with me. Stay with me!"

     _Can't..._ I drifted towards the black of unconsciousness... _Giselle, if what was stolen in life is returned in death...I do not think...you will be alone...very much longer._


	13. The Definition of Faith

**Kathyra**

_Harsh pounding on the door rouses the pain inside my skull. My eyes open and I blink the world into place, afraid as I realize I am wearing nothing and that I am not in the room I have come to know as mine. I cannot remember where I am or what has happened...not until, piece by piece, it slips into place and I remember.  
_

_"Wha..." My throat is sore and scratchy and I cease speaking as a figure rises in the dark._

_"Wait here, Kathyra." Giselle's voice calms the furor in my mind; I feel secure in her presence, even though the knocking at the door intensifies._

_Giselle walks to the door and opens it, standing guard as Mother Dorothea attempts to push past her with an imperious hand._

_"What is it, Dorothea?" She asks, not a little ire in her tone as she blocks the woman's entry._

_In the dim light of the lamps in the hall, I can see Dorothea's jaw tighten. "Where is your apprentice?" She asks, and my heart sinks as tension thickens in the room._

_"You've come knocking at my door before sunrise in search of Kathyra?" Giselle inquires, her voice hardening. "I think you owe me an explanation before you begin making demands. She **is** my apprentice, and **still** my patient. Her wounds are not yet fully mended."_

_"Be that as it may, you took your vows and as such are my subordinate and therefore, when orders are given, they **will** be followed." The imperious Revered Mother explains in a patronizing tone, such as one reprimanding a child. _

_I curl tighter into myself, feeling cold and unsure. I do not know why Dorothea has come seeking me, but the tone of her voice carries reminders of disapproval, anger, and consequences soon to be suffered. I am afraid. I know I have done nothing wrong, but I am still afraid._

_"Do not take that tone with me, Dorothea." Giselle orders, her posture straight, even though the Revered Mother towers over her. "Vow or no, you've no right to lord yourself over me, **especially** not as it concerns Kathyra. Now tell me or I will physically remove you from my doorstep."_

_**Why are you doing this, Giselle?** I wonder as I watch the two battle each other through sheer force of presence alone. **I know enough of you to know that you have no love of or desire for confrontation. I do not understand this behavior.**_

_"Shall I summon the city guard who demanded I seek our apprentice?" Dorothea needles Giselle and my heart begins to race. "Or will the knowledge that I am attempting to **help** you get through your diminished mental capacity?"_

_The racial slur is not lost on either of us. Giselle visibly stiffens and I clench my hands into fists. I have killed for less. Giselle is worth killing for._

_**What would it feel like,** I think, frightening myself as I consider the idea, **to take a life in defense of another? To kill...in order to protect? Is such an action** **justifiable, or is it murder still, and forever an unforgivable offense?**_

_"Speak." Giselle crosses her arms, maintaining her defiance and giving no ground to Dorothea._

_"It would seem a man was murdered this night." Dorothea lowers her voice, but I can still hear every word. "His neck broken...in the same manner as I believe I recall you describing to a group of students not so long ago, Kathyra among them. A woman of Kathyra's description was seen leaving the scene."_

_I see the questions in Giselle's eyes, for I did not tell her of Leron's death at the hands of Marjolaine. I did not tell her that I bore witness to the all too merciful end to the man who had made my life an indescribable depth of terror._

_"Not possible." Giselle shakes her head, and the belief coloring her words drives a dagger into my gut._

_**How can you say that? I have only just relayed to you all that I am. I told you the magnitude of my crimes. I am a murderer!**_

_Dorothea waves her hand in a dismissive gesture. "I will leave such inquiries for the city guard. But if it does prove true..."_

_"It **won't**." Giselle insists, and my heart **burns.**_

_"Hear. Me. Out." Dorothea orders, clipped and forceful. "If it **does** ring true, then you will lose your tenure here. Your vows will be revoked, and so will my protection. We both know that the situation of your finances is beyond dismal, and that you've nothing and no one to help you outside of these walls. Think on that carefully before you make **another** foolish decision, Sister Giselle."_

_"Another?" Giselle demands, not betraying an ounce of fear. "And what, in your mind, would be the first, Mother Dorothea?"_

_"Aside from the pretention to rise above your station?" Dorothea glares at the physician down the bridge of her aquiline nose. "Perhaps the fact that you gave a potential **murderer** a home inside my Chantry."_

_" **Your** chantry, mother? I think not." Giselle scoffs. "Send in your guards and I will give them the full measure of the truth. _

_"Be careful, sister." Dorothea warns. "You have already been warned of the consequences of any falsehoods, and I did have the foresight to search your apprentice's room. She was not to be found."_

_**Do not do it, Giselle. Do not lie for me, for you do not know the entirety of the truth. Please,** I look to the heavens in supplication, allowing myself to believe, for one moment, that a god might exist who would answer the prayers of one such as I, **please let no harm come to her. Cast me back into the streets, rip the flesh from my body, spill my blood, I do not care. But let no harm come to her because of me. Please.**_

_The clank of armor greets my ears and Giselle flings the door open wide, allowing light to spill in the room. I close my eyes, willing away the sight of men sworn to uphold the law. Too many times I have run as they dogged my footsteps. Too many times have I dodged their weapons, keeping my face shielded for fear of being identified. My body trembles beneath the sheets._

_"Guardsmen, please, I ask for quiet." I hear Giselle's voice, not dark and heated as it was in conversation with Dorothea, but soft, innocent, and trustworthy. "The woman you seek is not Kathyra. She came to me feeling ill, and has been under my care and supervision since sunset. She has only now succumbed to slumber. Please, do not disturb her."_

_"Mother Dorothea," The deep baritone of a guard, "will you vouch for the testimony of this sister?"_

_Again the battle of will rises in the air between the two women, Dorothea's prejudice and anger balanced against her need for Giselle's expertise. Giselle's healers, men and women that she has taught the art, have elevated Dorothea's reputation to great heights._

_"Sister Giselle is many things." Dorothea relents." But dishonest is not one of them. I would," She sighs, disgruntled, "I would stake my reputation on it."_

_"Then we are sorry to have disturbed you, Revered Mother." One of the guardsmen speaks._

_I open my eyes the smallest amount and watch the guardsmen depart, followed by a tight-lipped Dorothea. She looks back at Giselle and frowns, shaking her head. The physician smiles and lifts her hand, fluttering her fingers with a cheeky grin._

_Dorothea sighs in disgust and the door closes. Giselle leans against it and her chest heaves in one shuddering exhale. I sit up in bed, worrying for her, but she lifts her hand, an order to lie back down. I obey and rest my head on the pillow, dreading every footfall as she comes nearer._

  ** _I have taken too much from you,_** _I think. **If this continues, what will happen to me when you decide you do not wish to give, or can give no longer?**_

_"Are you all right?" She asks, her voice different than it was with Dorothea or the guardsmen. it is sweeter, gentler, lyrical._

_"Why did you do that?" I do not even answer her question, as most would have. It is direct, and her eyes demand that I give an honest answer._

_"Did you kill the man?" She does not dance around the question, as most would have. It is direct, and her eyes demand that I give an honest answer._

_"I...I saw him killed." I confess."And did nothing to stop it...because the man who was murdered was Leron, and his murderer was my sister...Marjolaine."_

_"Was this Leron...was he the man who hurt you?" She asks again, so blunt, so matter-of-fact._

_I realize that I never spoke his name during my outpouring to Giselle. Never once did I speak of him as I granted her the horror of my past. Tears fall from my eyes and I nod, unable to speak past the knot in my throat and the pain in my chest._

_"Good." She speaks, emphatic, with no room for argument._

_"Giselle," I press the matter, determined to portray to her the woman that I am, to hide nothing. "I **would** have killed him, given the opportunity. For years, I have wanted nothing else **but** his blood on my hands. You...you should not have lied. Not for me...not when I had already slaughtered him in my heart."_

_Giselle folds her hands into her lap and pierces me with her eyes. "Kathyra, you know so **much** of the darkness that seems to rule this world. Such immersion...into something that bleak, that inescapable...it drives the mind to a point where the world is drawn in stark colors, exact shades. Darkness, light, with nothing in between. It is not so."_

_"You lied to protect a murderer and a thief, Giselle...in the house of god, no less. It is...it is not right."_

_Giselle smiles, warmth and radiance. "I did not lie, Kathyra. You did not kill him."_

_Confusion creases my brow. "You did not know that at the time."_

_"And that is faith." She explains to me, gentle. "I did not have to know what happened, because I know **you.** You say you wanted to kill him. How many times did you have the opportunity?"_

_I wrack my mind, what little of it is left to me, and the moments appear in stark clarity: the times I could have slipped poison into his drink, forced a knife between his ribs when he came to me at night, arranged an accident as he stumbled through the house in a drunken, opiate stupor._

_"A thousand times." I breathe, wondering why I never capitalized on the chances afforded me._

_"And you did not." Giselle slides her hand close, still refraining from touch, but allowing me to know that if I could accept it, she would offer more than mere words as comfort. "Not because of fear, but because, in your deepest heart, the one you have never had freedom to indulge, you are **not** a woman capable of murder. And," she stalls my protests with a glance, "until you can believe that of yourself, for yourself, believe **me** in your stead."  
_

_"You are so kind." I lower my head, ashamed to share space with such a woman, much less look her in the eye. "I have...I have never felt this way before."_

_"Tell me." Giselle says, not an order but a wish._

_"There is...there is something missing, and I cannot place it." I fidget with the blankets and attempt to gather my thoughts._

_"If you will let me, I will show you." She offers._

_I lift my eyes to hers, deciding to trust. To attempt to learn what **faith** is, as she defines it. _

_"Please."_

_Without hesitation, without further question, taking a liar at her word, Giselle reaches out and rests her hand on my shoulder. The instinctual fear rises, until she turns in towards me, baring her neck, her chest, and her vital organs to the freedom of my hands. I had never before seen a clearer portrayal of intent...and never an intent so pure._

_Giselle draws me towards her, resting my head on her shoulder. "Touch is necessary for life, Kathyra." She whispers. "I am so sorry that something so beautiful has been used to wrong you. It is meant as a gift, from one to another, to be used in moments of sincerity, sanctity, and sorrow."_

_"I...I..." I fumble over the words as I inhale her scent and realize that she has left me free, free to move away, to shrink back, to falter. "...I do not know...if I will ever...be able to give such a thing...to anyone."_

_"Can you accept it?" She asks, and her breath warms my cheek. "For just this moment, knowing that my sole desire is but to offer you a place of safety?"_

_"Yes." I whisper against her neck._

_The tears come, the wracking sobs, the torrential sorrow. I am naked before her, body and soul. The bardic voice in the back of my mind screams that at any moment, she will take her advantage, and all I can do is shed more tears for that knowledge._

_And yet, through it all, Giselle just...holds me._


	14. Plague

**Kathyra**

_"Good morning, slugabed." Giselle greets me._

_I turn from the window and smile, ready to face this day. Six months have passed since Leron's murder. Six months have passed in the half elf's company, under her tutelage. In her, I have witnessed something I have never before seen...Giselle has remained the same. Unerring kindness, firmly held principles, a belief and delight in mankind that moves me in my very spirit. I have seen her covered in blood and drenched in sweat...smiling, for she has saved a life. And I have seen her pale and trembling with rage and grief for lives unable to be preserved._

_"Good morning." I reply, amazed that I am able to find truth in my speech._

_**All mornings are bliss, when I am welcomed into them with your smile.** The thoughts inspire a rush of blood to my face and I turn my gaze back to the rising sun, lest Giselle see and begin asking questions. Questions that I no longer avoid. _

_**She belongs to another.** I reconcile myself to that fact as the lithe half-elf walks to the array of shelves in the room and beings tossing various vials and pouches of herbs into her bag. **She is sworn to her work. It is her passion, her entire life, and I am blessed to be a mere part of it. Perhaps this is why I persist in ignorance at times...I am too afraid to venture into a world without her presence.**_

_"Have you been called away?" I ask, watching as she rifles through her old, leather satchel, tucking her hair behind her ears in frustration. Only when completely lost in thought does she forget about concealing the tell-tale evidence of her heritage._

_"In a manner of speaking." She tosses the satchel back onto the table and resumes her searching through the vials. " **I** am calling us away. To the alienage."_

_"Is everything all right?" I inquire, examining the crease between her brows, the set of her lips, clear indicators that she is most unhappy._

_"Most certainly not." Giselle sighs and abandons the search, slinging her satchel over her shoulder._

_"Giselle, please." My instinct is to reach out and connect with her; place a hand on her shoulder, or lower, along the defined curvature of her waist, but I resist, still hesitant after all this time. Still afraid of the ramifications of touch without invitation or need. "Calm yourself and tell me what troubles you. Is it Dorothea again?"_

_The Revered Mother has persisted in being a thorn in Giselle's side, and, by extension, my own. She leaves no chance untaken to remind Giselle of her tenuous position, or slight her for the elven blood in her veins. Since the night with the guards, I have fallen under her scrutiny as well. Dorothea has begun asking questions of my lineage, my father and mother, my past history. In spite of Giselle's interference and my own skill at avoiding interrogation, Dorothea continues to probe and I know the woman to be connected enough to find the truth of me, should she extend the parameters of her search._

_**The Chantry has grown stifling and uncomfortable, but we've nowhere else to go. No...that is not true. I am human. I can find my way in any corner of the world, any country. I could set weapons in my hand again, or take the skills I have learned from her and begin life as a healer. However,**_ _I look at her, the sun gleaming from her golden hair, the vivacity in her mystical green eyes, the smooth texture of her skin, **I do not life anywhere but at her side. I need her, as I have never needed anything in my life...as she will never need me.** _

_"No. The Revered Cancer has managed to avoid me today, for which I am grateful to whatever deity has smiled on me." Giselle pinches her eyes shut, collects herself, and sighs. "Forgive me, Kathyra. I have only just been told that sickness has broken out in the alienage. Any other place, **any** other, and the Chantry would have massed every healer in full force, to the point of summoning mages from the Circle."_

_"I see."_

_"Oh...Maker damn me to his fictitious hell." Giselle slams her palm against her forehead and looks at me. "I did not even ask if you would come...I simply assumed and..."_

_"Why would I not join you?" I ask, perplexed by her behavior._

_"Would you not be...uncomfortable...among my people?" Giselle's eyes search mine, seeking...something I cannot name._

_"Am I uncomfortable around you?" I inquire, wondering for the first time if her strength is a veneer. If the slights **do** slice beneath her skin, crawl into her soul, nestle there and prick her every time. _

_"I am different." She shrugs her shoulders, and I cannot deny the truth of her words, though their brusqueness disturbs me._

_**Assurances too quickly spoken convey a heart in**_ **_turmoil,_** _my bardic instincts whisper through my thoughts._

_"Not in my eyes." I shrug and take my own satchel, full of herbs and oils, bandages...not traps, poisons, and disguises. It is a reassuring weight, not a damning one, and a burden I am all too glad to carry. "Unless...would my being there inhibit your work? It is not only humans who are prejudiced, Giselle."_

_Giselle smiles and rolls her eyes, but the gesture is not dismissive. "You bring me back down to earth." She tilts her head at just the right angle and the sun gleams in her eyes, halting my heartbeat. "Please come with me, Kathyra. Your presence will inhibit nothing, except perhaps my temper, whose reins seem to be loosening at far too fast a rate."_

_"Sister Giselle." Dorothea's voice cuts through what might have been a touching moment, quenching the sparks with the ice of her presence. "Brother Alphonse has just informed me that you intend to spend today outside of the clinic."_

_"Yes, Dorothea." Giselle replies. "Kathyra and I are going to aid the alienage."_

_"You most certainly are not." Dorothea shakes her head, her imperious voice forcing my lips down at the corners._

_"No." Giselle shakes her head, blood rushing to her cheeks as her lips tighten with anger. "No. I will **not** endure another vitriolic tirade against the elves. Not from any lips, Dorothea, not even your **highly esteemed** ones."_

_Dorothea frowns. "Always on the offensive, Giselle. Our squabbles completely aside, there is a reason that I forbid you to leave. The Circle sent three healers to the alienage, two of them elven. At present, **both** elven mages are gravely ill. They have been placed in quarantine, while the other, human, is unscathed. I cannot afford for your life to be in danger."_

_"You cannot afford," Giselle paces in front of Dorothea, and the movement of her body is mesmerizing. " **You** cannot **afford**. The clinic was opened to perpetuate good works, the art of healing...I took an oath to help **everyone** in need."_

_"At risk to your own life?" Dorothea inquires, and my blood runs cold._

_Giselle throws up her hands. "I am constantly surrounded by sickness, regardless of my location. I have been **called** to alleviate suffering. Why now do you demand I mitigate risk?"_

_"Because the disease, whatever it may be, seems only to affect those of elven blood." Dorothea sniffs. "But if you will not be persuaded, then you will not be persuaded. I wash my hands of the entire matter."_

_The Revered Mother leaves and Giselle turns to me. "Shall we?"_

_"Don't go." I breathe, feeling my heart beat faster as Giselle's anger re-ignites the arresting hues of green in her eyes._

_"What?"_

_"Giselle, it isn't safe. Please don't go."_

_"Have you lost your mind!?" She demands, and for the first time, that righteous wrath I have seen her direct towards other is aimed...at me. "After all that you just said, that it did not matter, that you held no prejudice..."_

_"Dorothea wants you dead." I interrupt before I find myself speechless and hiding from her anger._

_Giselle ceases speaking, staring at me, questions in her gaze. "What?"_

_"Think of it, Giselle." I implore, spreading my hands before her. "Keeping news of the plague from you until now, then stating most emphatically that you are not to leave, **just** as you are readying to depart? She knows you will not listen, and I would hazard that she **hopes** your combative nature will lead you directly into a trap that could not have been better laid if planned."_

_"She...she is a revered mother of the Chantry." Giselle shakes her head, not wishing to believe that such malice could exist in any mortal heart. But I knew...I knew that it did, and that, most often, it would be acted upon. "Kathyra, you're wrong. You have to be. Dorothea is many things, but she would not attempt to..."_

_"There is a well trained staff on hand at the clinic." I stand firm, as she has shown me how to do. "She no longer has need of you, Giselle. But, as a mother of the Chantry, she cannot, in good conscience, set you adrift. However, she **can** make you a martyr, a heroic tale to convert all those who would take oaths and learn your profession...aiding the Chantry in furthering its power. Please, do not fall into her trap. Let me go in your stead."_

_"You would do that for me?" Her glance reveals nothing, but her tone is one of...awe?_

_**I would do anything for you, Giselle. Anything.**_

_"Yes, if you will let me."_

_I can see the internal battle within her, the knowledge that the woman who had showed her what, at first, seemed a kindness, was now conspiring to end her. She worries her lower lip with her teeth and closes her eyes in defeat._

_"I have to." She states, and my heart sinks. "Kathyra, it is no slight on you, or your considerable talents. But by all the gods in their heavens combined, I **will** **not** be Dorothea's puppet. Let that woman and her prejudice stoop to such a level; I will not be dissuaded from my calling by such a petty thing as fear."_

_"Your life is at risk, because of your elven blood." I continue to argue. My heart is kicking against my ribs, fierce with worry, screaming with warnings._

_"Well," Giselle adjusts her satchel, "we shall see which half of my blood is the stronger."_

_"Giselle, please," **Show no emotion; reveal your heart to no one, lest they use it against you.** "I am...worried. I do not want..."_

_She turns to me and her smile stills my tongue. "Do not worry for me, Kathyra. I have no concern for myself."  
_

_"Why not, after what was revealed?"_

_"You are with me." She turns and exits the room, leaving me stupefied, tongue-tied, confused, and indescribably **happy**...even though anxiety continues to gnaw at my heart. _


	15. Even the Strong Shy Away

**Kathyra**

_"Gods in their heavens collide." Giselle breathes, and I nod, numb.  
_

_The gates of the alienage are barred and my heart burns with a deep anger. I have been in cages. I have been mentally, emotionally, and spiritually bound. To see anyone tied down, forbidden to leave with physical walls and gates...it does not sit well within me, and I can but imagine that the same rings true for Giselle._

_We approach the guards and my mind begins the process. I formulate a plan to disarm them, find the weak points in their armor, plot every motion necessary to subdue them before a cry for aid can be raised._

_**In full view, it will be difficult to manage, but at close range, their spears will be ineffective, and I can stay them before they draw their swords. It will be all too easy to...no. Why am I even pondering such things? I am not that person any longer. **_

_But I wonder, in the back of my mind, if I will ever cease thinking in the manner of the bard; if I will ever find the need to look over my shoulder gone.  
_

_**Can I accept such a thing? Can I ever accept the things I have done, including the atrocities that have no memory to solidify them? Am I truly working towards my redemption, or merely using this to repress the darkness that remains lingering in my heart?**_

_"Guardsmen, what has happened here?" Giselle asks one of them, the man wearing a sergeant's insignia. I keep my head lowered. I do not recognize their faces, but I cannot risk them knowing mine._

_"It's a damn plague, sister." The sergeant explains. "The alienage has been ordered closed, seeing as it only affects the elves, and the nobles have no wish to see their slaves taken ill. Takes gold to replace those, you know."_

_"Maker's blessing if you ask me." The other guard chimes in. "Something needs to cull the population. Elven scum breeding like rats...it's disgusting."_

_Giselle turns a frightening shade of white and I can see the trembling in her hands, eyes, and lips as she struggles to restrain herself. I want to offer her my shoulder, my hand, something to steady and comfort her. I cannot. I do not trust myself to do so._

_"Open the gates." She orders, with a new tone in her voice that I have never heard before. It is ice and malice, the tremors of the earth before it splits in two._

_"We're under orders..."_

_"I am a physician sent by the Chantry." Giselle interrupts, lifting a silencing hand. "My apprentice and I will **not** be refused entry or exit."_

_"Waste of time." The bigot guard comments as the sergeant signals for the opening of the gates._

_Giselle and I enter through the narrow opening and the physician turns to me, her eyes over-bright with the sheen of tears. Such sadness in her gaze should not be there. I do not want it to exist. I do not know how to ease it._

_"Kathyra," She breathes, "is all the world so hateful? So petty and spiteful because of a different appearance, a separate way of life, a varied pantheon?"_

_"Do you actually question the truth of it?" I ask as we walk towards a lone, strangled tree, desperate to grow in a city made of stone and deprived of anything resembling life._

_"I have no wish to do so, but it would seem to be flung in my face day after day after day. Perhaps my father was too indulgent, or my mother unwise in allowing me my dreams. It is **not** right that I walk in freedom while those no less like me are herded like cattle into pens, considered fit to be nothing more than servants, bought and sold at auction like fucking furniture and accorded less worth."  
_

_The strength she carries always with her seems to fade at the despondency of her words and my heart wants to fly to hers. I know the consistent accusations of worthlessness, my name reviled as leather strikes against my skin. But I know the hope she has inspired in me, the dreams that have begun once more to dance behind my eyes, far out of reach as they seem._

_"It may not be right, Giselle, but it is needed." I tell her as I examine the abandoned streets and the red marks upon the doors of several dwellings, marks placed there to indicate which houses had succumbed to the plague, and those who still stood a chance of avoiding it._

_"What do you mean, Kathyra?"_

_"You are...you are different." **Tread carefully, Kathyra. Protect yourself.** "How many people, elven, human, dwarf, remain as they are simply because they know no other way of life? Because their fathers and their father's fathers have accepted their fate, too weak to see something different."_

_"You always speak as one talking of others, when in truth you are depicting yourself." Giselle accuses me, but she is flawlessly kind, and there is a smile present to tame what otherwise might be vicious words. "What is the intent of your truth, trickster?"_

_A smile spreads across my features at her chosen nickname for me. She speaks it always with affection, never derision, and I have endeavored to keep it so by always giving her the truth. Such as the truth in my expression now. I find that a smile is brought to my face with much more ease, and that it is never a facade or a farce as before, but an honest depiction of emotion._

_"You are the spirit of hope, Giselle." I attempt to speak to her as she does to me, honest, earnest, no fripperies and metaphors to mar the intent of my words. "I thought myself doomed to a life of...of evil. Until you came into my life, freely speaking of your heritage, revealing an unembittered heart in the face of great prejudice. You are proof that liberty can be achieved, that the endless cycle of servitude and slavery can be done away with. Your freedom is not something unfair...it is something that is necessary for change."_

_Giselle gazes into a faraway distance. "Will you revile me if I say that sometimes the will to fight vanishes from my heart?"_

_Her confession touches me, knowing that I am witness to the intimate thoughts of her heart, a place that, she has confessed to me, none other had ever been privy to._

_"Will you revile me if I tell you that I wished to die even after you had saved my life?" I return a question._

_Giselle considers my inquiry and shakes her head. "No." She answers. "Such a thing is...it is **human** nature."_

_We pause at the base of the tree and I turn to her, seeing her lips quivering as she looks at the squalor that bigotry and ignorance have doomed her people to._

_"It is **mortal** nature." I tell her. "If I have learned one thing from you, Giselle, it is that beneath the skin, with its form, its covering, its concealment...we all bleed red. We are all the same."_

_"Why does it seem that you are the **sole** human with open eyes?" The physician wonders aloud, lighting a hope in my heart. _

_"Because I am the sole human who has spent this much time in your presence." I reply without thinking, realizing my mistake as blood rushes to my cheek in a tell-tale indicator of truth._

_"We should...we should set about our work." Giselle alters the flow of conversation, walking to the first door she sees with a red mark._

_I follow, confused and bewildered, for she has never fled from a conversation, no matter its depth or intensity. That is...that was...my pattern of behavior, until recently. I open my mouth to ask what I have done wrong when Giselle turns and faces me. I immediately seal my lips when I see a careful mask set in place._

_**The implacable physician...the woman with no doubts and no fears. The woman who could save the world. The woman I am beginning to lov...no, Kathyra. I do not even know what such a thing entails, much less the chance of having such an emotion flung back in my face. I could not...bear the pain.**_


	16. A Step in New Directions

**Kathyra**

     "Maker's breath, Leliana." Kestrel's voice was louder than I had ever heard it. "Your skin is cold as ice. What were you doing out there?"

     "Taking some air." I could hear the ever-present smile in Leliana's voice, though her words trembled out between chattering teeth. "At least the wind has picked up, in our favor."

     "A mercy that, that you don't have to chill yourself to the bone to discover that not _every_ god despises us." Kestrel sounded like an over-worried mother.

     _She is so young._ I thought, and it grieved me. _There are so many who say th_ _at life is unkind to the aged. That we forget them in ignorance and youth, but time is changing. It is the young who I see over-burdened and called to witness things and perform deeds that their hearts are not yet ready to grasp the enormity of._

     I looked at Leliana, thinking of her age, remembering her confession that she had watched the woman she loved die...and be brought back to life. Such a thing was painful; I knew it from the faces of those I had successfully resuscitated. I knew the agony of watching one that I loved in unimaginable pain.

     _The good die young,_ I wanted to weep for the cruelties of the world, for the god who had allowed the one who first showed me the truth of love to be taken from my side. The god who had brought my path in line with Leliana...and her love, and her faith, and her unshakeable hope... _a heart that lies in another woman's hands._ _A woman who is far better than I. Why? Why this torment in the name of that which is most beautiful? I do not understand it. I do not understand that, while my body wishes to give up the fight, it continues on._

_One look at Leliana...and I want to live._

     I rested my eyes from the dim light of the oil lamps, willing myself back into slumber, away from the pain, away from the questioning of sanity and my heart...and back into a life before I knew the truth. The truth of my fate...that destiny had written for me a life of loneliness and longing...a destiny that snatched away the good in my world, or held it just out of reach...a beautiful, torturous temptation. __

* * *

_"We owe a debt we cannot repay you, Sister Giselle." The leader of the city elves speaks, reaching out to Giselle with his hand, extending a bond from one tot he other. "May the Creators smile on your many kindnesses."  
_

_Every word of warning I have ever received flares through my mind when I see Giselle take the man's hand. His eyes are glassy with fever, his skin clammy and pale, for the plague has taken him and I can see both in his and Giselle's eyes that he might not have long in this world to live._

_**How can you endanger your life in this way?** I wonder as they release each other...Giselle reaching out once more when the elf stumbles. She helps right him and keep him on his feet. _

_"You owe us nothing, Keeper." Giselle assures him, her voice low and thickened by exhaustion and grief._

_The aura of death hovers over this place, ruthless, merciless, cold. The doors marked with red open into houses of grief and sorrow and pain. Mothers watching their children die. Wives clinging to their husband's hand. Fathers cradling their daughters, bathing their fevered brows. I listened to prayers in all tongues sent skyward, hoping against hope that a god dwells there who would listen and answer._

_The Elder laughs. "You accord me a title that has been lost to us." He shakes his head and coughs, a deep, broken sound that sends chills down my spine. "We do not have Keepers any longer, sister...not here in the cities."_

_"You are a guide and guard for those lost here." Giselle's kindness shines through her beleaguered eyes. "Such actions can restore that which was lost to its former glory. Perhaps not in the same manner, but int he spirit of it, which, in the eyes of the Creators, **must** be the same thing."_

_"Such wisdom in one so young." The alienage Elder echoes my thoughts. "Go. Please go. You have done all that you can for us, and we are thankful for it. And to you," He inclines his head in my direction, the sole elf in this place who has looked at me with anything more than disdain and fear. "I thought the shemlen had forgotten kindness. I was proven wrong. Please," He reaches out and touches my arm and I flinch, struggling to keep myself under control. For his sake, for Giselle's, and for **mine**. "Please continue in your good works. Prove," He coughs, long and harsh and painful, "...prove to my children...and their children...that hate need not run so rampant."_

_Giselle looks at me in expectation as the Elder removes his hand. I know that there is something I need to say, but I have always broken my word...I have always been **forced** to break my word. The thought of giving it to another, following a vow to its end, **keeping** it sacred and near to my heart until it is fulfilled is a foreign thought to me. _

_**But I want it. I want my word to be trusted. I want it to be the foundation of who I will become.**_

_"I will." I swear the first oath I have ever taken, the first that will not be broken for me._

_"Ma serannas, ma falon." He tells me, and though I do not know the meaning of the words, they strike a fire in my heart that does not fade as Giselle and I walk from the alienage._

_The physician remains silent and I look at her in worry. Her brows are creased in confusion, but I can see no sign of the rampant sickness in her. The elves told us of the plague that took them with unrestricted sickness. The high fever, fluid in the lungs, the feeling of struggling for breath as the sickness progresses. They informed us that even the slightest scratch would refuse to stop bleeding and that, towards the end, as the body weakened, the veins would burst and begin bleeding beneath unbroken skin._

_**This cannot happen to her,** my heart begins to gallop in my chest as I observe the current pallor of Giselle's skin. **Even though we were careful, this sickness is so virulent...although Giselle is but half-elven...there is still a chance.**_

_"Are you all right?" I ask, unable to keep my concern to myself any longer._

_She faces me and her brow smooths and her eyes gleam in the moonlight, as only an elf's can. I find it...I find it magical._

_"Fine, Kathyra. Simply tired."_

_"You seem lost in thought." I press the issue, determined to discover the reason that the oft-talkative physician has quieted._

_"He spoke to you...in the old language." She speaks, nearly a whisper. "He called you friend."_

_"Does this...does this trouble you?" I ask, wondering if I have done something amiss._

_"Kathyra," She worries her lower lip with her teeth, "in no history I have ever heard or read has an elf called a human such a thing."_

_"Perhaps the world is changing." I look to the sky, no longer able to gaze into the fire in her eyes, lest I question its meaning, lest I give into the desire to make it shine brighter...and in doing so snuff it out._

_"Perhaps you are changing the world." She mumbles, trailing off as we continue the long, exhausted walk back to the Chantry._


	17. The Chill of Foreboding

**Kathyra**

_The next morning dawns with a vengeance. Thick, angry clouds blot out the sun and the air is thick with the scent of a storm soon to break. I stand at the window and inhale deeply, enjoying the burn of the salt air as the wind carries the smell of the ocean in from the harbor.  
_

_**I remember dreading moments such as these,** I savor the time I have been given, time to analyze my thoughts and, through them, discover the identity of the woman I am now. The woman separated from plots and schemes, darker dreams of minds more insidious and hands more powerful. **When the light of the sun, for darkness is the bardic calling, gave way beneath the storm, and when it rains, the wealthy bleed and the powerful tremble, though neither know the reason why.**_

_A soft knock at the door jars me from thoughts soon to become melancholic, but it is not Dorothea's authoritative demand for entry, nor Giselle's chipper morning greeting. I walk to the door and unlock it, shamed as I realize that none of the other Chantry residents insisted on protection for their rooms, satisfied that the caliber of those by whom they were surrounded was above reproach._

_I knew that it was not so._

_The woman standing before me is not someone I wish to greet the morning beside. She is older than me by about seven years, and neither time nor age has dampened her youth or her tendency for gossip. She was one of the first to volunteer for physician's training, and Giselle tells me she has applied herself and learned well. However, the flow of words does not cease when she speaks and her consistent enthusiasm for life and its living can be...tiresome._

_As usual, her deep brown eyes are snapping with too much energy for the early morning. Her dark hair, already showing signs of age with the odd silver strand here and there, is tied back already for our work. She smiles and the dark skin at the corner of her eyes crinkles. I envy her complexion for I find it lovely. She is the daughter of an Orlesian father and Rivaini mother, and is truly beautiful...but almost unbearable._

_"Good morning, Kathyra." Mirien chirps, smiling up at me. "I have been looking for Sister Giselle all morning; I needed to call upon her expertise, but she is nowhere to be found. Is she with you?"_

_"No." I answered, perhaps too brusque._

_Worry ignites my heart and I exit my room, striding down the hallway towards Giselle's quarters. Mirien struggles to keep up with her shorter height, taking two steps for every one of mine._

_"Is everything all right?" The inquisitive woman asks. "You've gone the most interesting shade of white, and your hands are trembling."_

_"I don't know." My words come out in a growl and Mirien's pace falters._

_"Kathyra, you're frightening me." Mirien pants as I pause outside Giselle's door, debating on knocking or simply bursting in and answering my worries._

_"Giselle, are you awake?" I call out to the woman who normally rises before the sun._

_**If she has taken ill, will she even be able to answer?** My heart begins racing as no reply comes from behind the door. _

_"Giselle, Mirien is with me." I call another warning. "We're coming in."_

_I open the door and survey the room. All is in Giselle's normal order: the bed made, the shelves without a speck of dust. The leather-bound books in which she spends her nights are in their normal places, undisturbed. I clench my hands into fists, imagining the worst. Giselle, ill and alone, wracked and confused by fever, unable to cry for aid._

_"I knocked and she didn't answer." Mirien's incessant banter keeps up as I search the washroom and the closet. "So I scoured the clinic and chapel, but she wasn't anywhere. Could she have gone back to the alienage?"_

_"She would not do so without me." I breathe, hoping that I speak true, unwilling to give any pertinent information to the Chantry's most notorious gossip. The last thing I need is Dorothea at my door, inquiring about an "inappropriate bond" between master and apprentice._

_"Between two sets of eyes, we might have more luck." Mirien states the obvious and I turn to her, scarcely able to conceal my frustration and alarm._

_"Go to the kitchens and inquire if she has been seen there." I tell her. "I will check the clinic's storeroom."_

_"Oh," She pauses, staring at the ceiling with almost vacant eyes, "I didn't think of that."_

_Mirien leaves and I set out for the clinic at a dead run, disrupting a group of Chantry brothers returning from morning prayers, and nearly trampling the poor woman cleaning the floors. I race through the clinic, ignoring the eyes that stare at me as though I have gone mad. I burst into the storeroom, breathing heavy, almost collapsing in relief as Giselle turns from the shelves, places her hand on her hip, and laughs._

_"Running to or from, trickster?" She asks as I lean against the doorway, catching my breath, using the moniker that, from any other source, would be an insult and an irritant._

_"Maker's breath, Giselle." I recover from my madcap dash through the Chantry halls and move towards her, examining her for any sign of sickness. "You frightened me."_

_"What on earth are you on about?" She raises her eyebrows._

_"Mirien came looking for you this morning." I explain, running my hand through my tousled hair. "She said you were not to be found anywhere. I went to your room and when...when you did not answer, I thought..."_

_Understanding crosses her features and she smiles. It is a soft, tender, almost giddy expression, not condescending or patronizing. "You thought I had taken ill." She whispers. "And that is what brought you here at a furious sprint?"_

_"Yes." I answer as the blood that had fled my face and left me pale at Mirien's revelations rushes back with a fury, staining my cheeks a brilliant red. "Mirien said she had looked for you in the clinic and the chapel..."_

_"And the daft little chit had completely forgotten to check the storeroom or the kitchens." Giselle laughs, and the sound comforts me in a way nothing else can. "I do apologize for worrying you, Kathyra, but as you can see, I am quite well."_

_"Are you certain?" I question her as she lifts a hand to cover a yawn. "You look tired."_

_"I am." She nods. "I remained awake after we returned, looking for something to cure the plague, and, barring that, something to at least alleviate the symptoms. If..." Her expression darkens and I yearn to take the lack of light from her and absorb it into myself, for I am comfortable with shadows, and she is not. "...if a cure cannot be effected, then at least we can keep the victims from dying in pain."_

_"Any success?" I attempt to align my thoughts with hers, away from the woman terrified of loss and loneliness, and back to the physician's apprentice._

_"Not for a cure, no." Giselle stares at the shelves as though demanding they speak to her and reveal the knowledge that she seeks. "The symptoms are ridiculously varied. The fever and fluid in the lungs are not worrisome in and of themselves, and could be some sort of influenza or pneumonia, but the **bleeding**." She stresses the word. "I can think of no illness that thins the blood and weakens the veins in addition to the raging fever and pleural effusion. Separate, yes. Together, no."_

_I watch as she begins to pace, tapping her chin with the tip of her index finger, thinking aloud as though I am not present._

_"In addition, how is it contracted? Through air? Food? Touch?" She wonders. "And why only **elves**? Sicknesses do not discriminate, and our..." Her eyes flash to mine and she stumbles over her words, "...our physiologies are not so different. If elves are falling ill, then humans should be as well."_

_"You said the symptoms do not make sense." My thoughts begin racing, attempting to catch up with Giselle's._

_"Not as an illness, no." She concurs, staring at me with those riveting eyes. "What are you thinking, Kathyra?"_

_"Andraste's flames, Mischief, Viper's Kiss, and Layman's Excuse." I speak aloud as I attempt to piece together this puzzle._

_"Can you make sense of what you just said?" Giselle asks, stepping in close, as though we are speaking in secret._

_"Poisons." I arrive at my conclusion. "Those are but a few of the poisons whose effects would resemble the symptoms of this 'plague' exactly."_

_Realization strikes Giselle and her brows lower as confusion swirls in her eyes. "Poisoning on such a massive scale?" She inquires. "It's unthinkable. Who would do such a...why, Kathyra? Tell me why? And how, if you can."_

_"A test, perhaps." I back away as her eyes glare into my very soul, seeming to vilify me for my theory, though I have **no hand** in what is being done...if I am even correct, which I pray that I am not. "It would have to be a mixture of two, perhaps three different toxins, but it would appear that someone might be attempting to craft a poison that is seemingly nothing more than a terrible sickness."_

_"Why. The. Elves?" She demands and I can feel the heat in her voice, the anger in her heart._

_"Because there are none who care." I hang my head in shame, shame that I was once among those who did not notice, did not care, and did not see that a race no less our equal was forced into servitude. "You heard the gate-guard yesterday, Giselle. If it is poison, the mastermind behind its making chose his test bed perfectly. I am sorry, I..."_

_"It's not your fault." She says, and there is sincerity in her voice. "In fact, if not for you...I would have attempted to combat this as an illness. Against such a poison...can an antidote be crafted? Where would the source originate? It would have to be in the alienage."_

_"If I can isolate the poisons, an antidote could be easily distilled." I say, and her eyes light with such hope, I feel I have given her the world. "But if I were to attempt to distribute a lethal toxin on a widespread scale, to one race alone..." The answer comes to me all too quickly and I look to Giselle, horror in my eyes. "You did not drink from the well, did you?"_

_**I have always carried a canteen with me wherever we venture, too afraid to accept another's hospitality, too accustomed to trusting none but myself. But Giselle...these thoughts have never even entered her mind.**_

_I wait for my answer as Giselle searches through her memory of yesterday. "No." She answers at last. As we leave the storeroom, my blood runs cold._

_**Giselle...you never learned to lie...did you?**_


	18. Fear's Icy Hand

**Kathyra**

     "Is there any new word?" Kestrel asked, speaking to the barest sound of a footfall on the deck, the sole signal of Leliana's presence. 

     "We are making good time." My little sister's protege answered.

     I breathed a sigh of relief, though not for myself. I knew that, by this time, there was nothing to be done. My death would be slow, excruciatingly painful, and I would feel my life slip away, little by little. I would remain conscious as life left me; able to feel every agonizing moment as my body lost its will to live. 

     "I've brought you some foot." Leliana crossed in front of me and the light from the oil lamps turned the tresses of her hair into a living flame. "If you think you can eat."

     Kestrel sighed; the notion of partaking of food in a room that stank of blood and death was far from appealing. I had conquered that long ago, strength being a necessity, no matter the surrounding circumstances. 

     "I should." The templar private relented and stood. She stumbled, gasped, and tucked her hand beneath her arm.

     "Kestrel," Leliana went to the young woman, "what is it? Are you all right?"

     "Fine." She spat the word through gritted teeth. "I think I may have been grazed by the ship's mast when it splintered."

     "And you wait until now to tell me?" Leliana asked. "Let me see the wound, Kestrel."

     "I am fine, I assure you." The bravado in her tone was unmistakable, and I smiled, remembering the pride of the young.

     Leliana gently removed Kestrel's hand an inspected the templar's wound. Kestrel winced and looked away as Leliana probed the damaged flesh.

     "It's not bad." Kestrel insisted, as though she could will it into truth.

* * *

_The slight hiss of pain jars me from the book I am buried in and I look up as Giselle drops her knife and cradles her palm to her chest. The brilliant red of blood flows over her skin and I rise from my chair with such force that it is knocked backwards. My book flies to the floor, forgotten._

_I rush to Giselle's side, pulling her hand away, seeing the tear in her palm from the tiny, sharp blade she uses for cutting and preparing herbs. It is a small thing, but I am terrified. I do not want to look into her eyes, afraid that I will see what I do not want to know. That she truly **is** ill. That the plague has settled in her body and begun to ravage it. _

_"Stay here." I order her as my heart hammers in my chest, as I remember every symptom of this poison in vivid detail._

_I remove a roll of bandaging from a basket on the floor and hurry back to Giselle. She smiles as I take her hand and begin wrapping it with the soft white linen. I wonder if she can feel my fingers trembling as I care for her wound, if she can detect the hitch in my breathing as I fight through my fear._

_"It's not bad." She assures me with a soft tone. "But it is your fault." I can hear the jest in her voice. "You should know better than to let me play with sharp objects when I am fatigued."_

_**Why do you persist in the lie? And...will you forgive me for not demanding you give me the truth? Your life is in danger, Giselle, and you blithely go about your work as though nothing is the matter. I do not know what to say. I do not know how to approach you...to help you tell me the truth.**_

_I continue working, unable to respond, unable to speak past the fear in my heart. There are so many things that Giselle, with all of her knowledge and experience, simply does not know. Even my theory of poisoning has its flaws, and I can find nothing that explains how it would be possible...and yet...it is._

_**Most toxins that affect the blood have to be introduced through the blood. If the source of the poison**_ _ **is** **the water supply, then somehow the toxin has been altered. But how? Some things...some things are immutable by their very nature.** _

_"Kathyra?" Giselle asks, jolting me back into reality when I realize this must be the third or fourth time she has said my name. "Worrying over nothing is not like you, trickster. Is something wrong?"_

_I tie off the bandage and tuck the ends of cloth into the layers of wrapped linen. That done, I look into the glimmering eyes that haunt my dreams and make me...make me wish to be **different.** Better. _

_"It's not going to stop bleeding, Giselle."_

_Her lips part in surprise and I notice how very pale they are. She stares at me, looking for words, for a defense...but she is an honest woman. All lies must find their end eventually._

_"When did you realize?" She asks._

_"The moment you lied about drinking from the well." For some reason, I wish to apologize for my training, to beg forgiveness for possessing eyes that can see through deception._

_Giselle pinches her brows together and her lips tremble. The skin beneath her eyes appears almost black...bruised with fatigue...perhaps from the tiny veins there breaking down because of the poison. I am afraid for her._

_"I keep...I keep believing that if I do not give in, nothing will happen." She says, and for the first time I see fear in her eyes as she looks down at her bandaged hand. "I suppose there is no denying it now. I..." She looks at me through a sheen of unshed tears, "...I do not want to be afraid, Kathyra. It's not my nature. It is not who I am. But this...who can fight something like this. I am one who has done nothing **but** fight from the day I first took breath: fighting to life, fighting to learn, fighting to keep what was earned, fighting for the lives of others...but I do not think I can combat this."_

_Her words end and I am possessed by the strangest urge to embrace her. I want to give her comfort, to answer her tears with compassion and surety, but I have neither of those things. All I have is my own fear. Giselle's life is in danger, and I am terrified of losing her. She is **necessary** in my life..._

_**...but I cannot carry this for her. I do not even know if she would accept any sort of comfort from me. Her reaction...when I spoke of poisons...as though she blamed me.**_

_"I am afraid, Kathyra." She admits._

_"Why?" I ask, thankful that we are alone in her room, not in the clinic proper, where there would be inquisitions and wildly speculative theories to discomfort and alarm._

_She does not speak the words on the tip of her tongue, but swallows them and searches for others, leaving me wondering at her omission. I allow her to find her words._

_"I have been able to conquer all that I have faced, but this...this outstrips my knowledge, and there is a truth I have known from the beginning that rings inside my mind with every beat of my heart. I have seen it proven, Kathyra..." She begins to tremble._

_"What truth?" I inquire._

_She turns from me and wipes her eyes, continuing to stare at the floor as she murmurs. "No one heals the physician."_

_**That's not true,** my thoughts insist. **I will not** **let** **it be true. Even if I have to force myself back into the depths of hell, I will save you.** _

_She lifts her bandaged palm and stares at the red that has already soaked through the layers of linen. Her eyes meet mine once more and she is more vulnerable than I have ever seen her. Her voice cracks as she speaks._

_"This is real, isn't it?"_

_"Yes." I hate myself for that single word, but I cannot deny its truth._

_"I do not want to..."_

_"You will **not**." I stop her before she can say the last word, the word that will drive the nightmare further into her mind. She will **not** die. _

_She reaches out to me, beseeching me, not pulling her hand away. She holds it there, an invitation, a request, a plea, a **need**. I swallow my temerity, steel myself, and take her hand in mine. The heat of her skin is a living, ravenous thing...the fever has come with a hellacious fury. _

_"You're burning up." I breathe, revealing something she has known all along._

_"Kathyra..." Her voice is high, strained. "I'm sorry."_

_Giselle's eyelids flutter and she sways on her feet. I pull her into my arms as she collapses, kneeling to soften the impact. I remain still, cradling her against my chest, allowing her to gather her breath and her wits. My breathing goes shallow as I realize that i have not held another in this way since Marjolaine and I were children._

_"Wha...what happened?" Giselle's words are a whisper across my cheek, warm and devastating. She stares up at me and her uninjured hand covers mine. Giselle's eyes widen and she struggles to sit up, to stand. "Kathyra, forgive me. I..."_

_"Lie still." I caution, my heart breaking as I see my only friend, the sole compassionate and caring heart that I have ever seen, attempt to leave my embrace...because she cares for me. Because she knows that I am afraid of touch._

_Giselle rests her head against my chest and my heart begins to beat faster...not with fear. I support her shoulders with one arm and place the other beneath the bend of her knees, standing and carrying her to her bed. With great care, I set her on the mattress, cradling her head until it rests on the pillow._

_The physician smiles and it is forceful, determined, and so earth-shatteringly gorgeous that I feel weak._

_"You're stronger than you look, trickster."_

_I attempt to smile as I take her bandaged hand and rest it on her stomach. "Keep it elevated, madame physician."_

_I turn away for but a moment..._

_"Kathyra!" Giselle cries, alarm in her voice._

_I spin and go to my knees beside the bed. "What is it?" I ask, resisting the desire to thread my fingers in her golden hair._

_"Don't leave." Panic streams from her eyes in pure, anguished tears. "Please don't leave me."  
_

_"I am not going anywhere." I promise her. "And I am going to fix this."_

_She has no more color left to lose, but already she is paler than when she collapsed in my arms. The rise and fall of her chest is arrhythmic and stilted. Blood continues to stain the bandage around her hand. I have to fix this, but where to begin...all I possess is a theory. A theory that I **must** investigate if I am to save her life. _

_**Maker, give me strength. Listen to a sinner, I beg of you. Let my stained hands save those which are clean. Please.**_


	19. The Whisper that Shatters the Earth

**Kathyra**

**_How innocuous it seems, just...sitting there._ **

_It took three silver pieces to bribe one of the elven servants in the Chantry to go to the alienage and return with water from the well. It will give me the proof I require; I am sure of it. I do not know when, however. To my mind, it has taken too long already._

_**I should have gone myself.** I stare at the water, daring it to reveal its secrets. Tired with waiting, I bite my lip and rise from the table, knowing that it does take time for the additives I poured into the water to do their work in identifying the toxin. **But I promised not to leave her...I cannot break such a promise.**_

_I turn my eyes toward the bed, watching as Giselle sleeps fitfully. Her cheeks are stained with a dangerous blush, indicative of her high fever. Her golden tresses lie scattered on the pillow, tangled and tossed by her relentless dreaming. I walk to her, sit down beside her, and, gentle, lift her injured hand._

_I unwrap the blood-soaked bandaging, wincing as I examine the gash in her palm. It is an accidental wound that should have been trivial; easily healed with only a faint scar. But her blood is refusing to clot; cannot close the wound. Giselle continues to bleed as I bandage her hand anew._

_**Though this bandaging is a useless gesture, for both of us know that this wound will not close. It is simply for comfort, for familiarity...but a bard wastes no action. Everything has its purpose, everything its place and time and its cause and effect. Have I changed in so short a time?**_

_"Are...are all hands...trained for weapons...so gentle?" The soft, light voice draws my attention from my actions and I feel relief as I see that her eyes are open and clear, not yet glassed with the delirium of the fever's final stage._

_"You're unwell." I tell her, uncomfortable with the very **present** glimmer in her gaze. "Otherwise, you would not accord me traits that I shall never possess."_

_"So doubtful." She reaches out and her too-hot, bloodstained finger brushes across my cheek. I allow her the physical familiarity, knowing that, were she well, she would not consider such a thing. "So afraid, with no reason. I...I trust your hands, Kathyra."_

_"Why would you say such a thing?" I inquire._

_"You are...intimately acquainted...with death." Giselle shifts and she hisses through gritted teeth. Her words cut deep into my heart, but I cannot deny the truth of them and I revile myself for it. I turn my face away.  
_

_"No no no." Giselle struggles to sit up, but stops short, breathing heavy and harsh. "Don't...go...to your dark place. I...I meant it...differently."_

_"I believe that you did." I allow. "But no matter what you meant, you cannot make it different." I finish bandaging her wound and make her more comfortable by plumping her pillows and bathing her brow with cool water. "It is not something I take pride in, Giselle. I...I asked you to teach me this art because I wanted away from that life and those memories, fragmented as they are."_

_"But...that life...your having lived it." Giselle coughs. "It is why you have such a gift for healing." She whispers, and for a moment, the world ceases to spin as her expression all but demands that I see myself through her eyes. "I...I lack something, Kathyra...and, seeing you, watching your natural talent for this work...I know what it is."_

_**How?** I ask myself. **How is it that you can lack in anything, Giselle? You have everything that I desire. You are strong. You have a kind** , **comforting presence. You possess this...unshakable faith in yourself that I envy.**_

_"I do not see how such a thing is possible."_

_"Of course you do not." Giselle smiles, the slightest lift of pallid lips. "Your world is still drawn in the starkest of shades. But you...you **know** death. You have seen it, felt it...brought it to bear. Somehow, when you heal, it is instinctual, for you know exactly how death will use the patient's injury or sickness. Even now you know...how it is taking my people...and me."_

_Her gaze is intent, almost burning me with her fever. I am trapped in her eyes, unable to formulate a reply. Instead, I turn away from her and get to my feet. I know that not enough time has passed, but it is easier for me to stare into the water than to look at Giselle. There are emotions ripping at me, threatening to shred me apart, and I do not know how to face them._

_"Kathyra, forgive me." Giselle speaks, her voice so weak I can scarcely make it out. "I never meant..."_

_Her words break off in a vicious coughing fit. I rest my hands on the table, listening to every hacking cough, every gasping breath, feeling each one of them as a lash across my back and a fist in my gut. My shoulders tense as the muscles bunch into shrieking knots._

_**Is this the life I truly wanted?** I ask myself. **To listen and watch as someone so...so...so precious is mercilessly run through a gauntlet of suffering? Maker, why? Why Giselle? I am the criminal! I am the murderer! If there is death to be dealt, ****let it be me who carries that burden. it is...it is as she said. I am intimately acquainted with death, and she is a stranger** **to its touch...there is so much life left for her.**_

_I drag myself from my thoughts, determined to solve this cruel riddle. The water still sits there, inert, telling me nothing. I glance at the candle I have lit to mark time, hating that it has not burned away enough of itself to grant me answers. I clench my hands in impotent frustration and turn back, realizing that I must face the beautiful woman who has given me a chance for redemption...who has asked nothing of me but that I trust her. She has proven herself time and again. Trust should not be so difficult a thing...but it is. I cannot...I simply cannot._

_Giselle's eyes are closed when I look at her again and my heart sinks as I see the glittering tracks of tears on her cheeks. Her breathing is ragged, the rise and fall of her chest stilted as the plague takes its toll on her body._

_**Am I the cause of her tears?** I wonder. **Have I marred something b** **eautiful once again?**_

_I sit beside her, unable to think of her as simply a patient, even if she is ill and under my care. There is a light in her eyes that stuns me to my core every time I chant to witness it. There is music in her smile and when she laughs...Maker, when she laughs...all the world is set aright._

_**I have never known what it is to love.**_

_My thoughts frighten me, but I know that they cannot be pushed away. They cannot be hidden from. I must cease being a coward, or it **will** cost Giselle her life. _

_**I have never been surrounded by such a peace as when Giselle is near. Her simple existence astounds me. Her strength is so encompassing...and I have let it weaken me instead of attempting to emulate it. I...I must be strong now. I must be strong for her sake, as she has been for mine.**_

_"Giselle." I begin to shake as I reach out, but I force myself to go to her, to thread my fingers through those of her uninjured hand, applying the slightest pressure. "Giselle, I am sorry. I should not have turned away."_

_"Do not pity me, Kathyra." Giselle opens her eyes, still wet with tears she has yet to shed. "Please, do not pity me. I could not bear it, not from you."_

_"I do not...I unlearned that emotion long ago." I tell her. "And I..."_

_Giselle looks down, noticing our entwined hands. Her eyes fill with alarm and she attempts to pull away, but I keep my hold._

_"You..." Her voice breaks and she smiles. " **Thank** you." The tears fall like stars from her eyes...and I know. _

_I know that my heart, wounded, marred, and blackened as it is...is mine no longer._


	20. Blue Resolute

**Kathyra**

__ **"Blue is the color of dreaming." A young woman's voice rings in my ears, bright and cheerful as it has not been for so long...so very long. "You look like a dream, Kathyra."**

**I stare into the mirror, turning back and forth before it as the silk I wear, dyed the color of indigo, swirls around my gawky form. I am not yet a woman, but no longer a girl. My sister's words spark hope in my heart, for she knows what beauty is. She has always known and exemplified it more than I.**

**"Do you truly think so?" I ask, shy, tucking my hair behind my ears.**

**Marjolaine giggles and adjusts the wide band of exquisite ribbon around my waist. "Of course, dear sister." Her wide eyes smile as she runs her fingers over the intricate embroidery on the bodice of the dress. "You will be simply stunning tonight. I'm sure of it."**

**I bit my lip, uncertain, unsure, but Leron enters the room. I school my face into the mask he desires me to wear...the mask of one radiant, cheerful, unafraid and unhesitating.**

**"Well done, pretty thing." He claps his hands together, slow, once, twice, three times. "You were right, Marjolaine. The deeper blue favors her complexion."**

**"I knew you'd be pleased." My younger sister asserts herself with confidence and the most elegant of curtsies.**

**A hunger lights in Leron's eyes and it worries me. Quick, I move to stand in front of Marjolaine, remembering my training. A lowered head, tilted hip, and inviting smile. I will do anything to keep his ravenous gaze at bay.**

**"I am ready at your whim, Leron." I tell him, dreading whatever function he has demanded I look my best for.**

**"Of course you are," He smiles, "pretty thing. Come along then. It won't do to be late."**

**I shudder as I take his extended arm and I look back at Marjolaine, basking in the smile of her face as she flutters her fingers in farewell. "Do not enjoy yourself overmuch without me." She urges and I smile back at her, a smile of secrets and sorrows, but also of joy.**

**Blue is the color of dreaming...and the color of mourning...but I will be forever content if I must grieve for the sake of her dreams.**

* * *

_**Blue is the color of death.** _

_I stare at the water, watching the additives complete their work. They change the clear liquid to a dusky blue, speaking to me in the language of loss, telling me what I feared from the first. It is poison. It is deadly and it is painful. The Viper's Kiss has no known cure...one can do nothing but treat the symptoms and pray to the Maker for mercy._

_I snuff the candle between my fingers and sigh, going to Giselle's private stock of herbs and oils, scanning the labels written in her careful hand. I never wanted to stand here again, hand in hand with the knowledge of death.. I never wanted to be the woman made in the image of a madman, crafted by deceit and trickery and evil...again._

_**How can something born of darkness preserve the light? Does not the one extinguish the other? Is it not more powerful? No matter the season, sun cedes to moon. No matter the vivid bright of dawn, the shadows of the clouds may conceal it. It is the way of the world...that which is bright and beautiful does not survive.**_

_The sound of muffled coughing rakes against my ears like a knife against bone, cold and chilling. I forego my melancholy, my thoughts of preemptive defeat, determined to fight for her, though I do not know the way. I take what I need from her stores and return to the table, losing my sanity in the desperate act of trying to save a life._

_**Maker...once again, I beg you. Hear a sinner's prayer. If it be my last act on this earth, let me save the one who is truly good. And if this does not work, if you find my attempt so reprehensible as to deny me success...let me die in her stead. Please.**_

_I grind the herbs into a fine powder, then pour them into a cup of tea. The herbs will help ease her breathing and help manage her fever, they are an antidote for the first toxin, a common compound often used to make someone ill, and incapacitate them without killing them. The effects wear off after a day or so, but that is under normal circumstances. These circumstances are not normal. I leave the tea to steep and cool as I mix the preventative for the second toxin._

_Viper's Kiss...this is the thing that is killing innocents. The first toxin has masked this one well, making the minds of those afflicted **and** the minds of healers to see the symptoms as those of a virulent sickness, not the act of a malevolent heart. This, however, was premeditated. The herbs I mix now are little more than a desperate act. All of them are used for the relief of pain, and I am mixing twice the proper amount for a woman of Giselle's size. _

_**Viper's Kiss does not allow a slow, easy death. It causes immense pain and suffering. Relief from that pain will allow her body to fight the toxin. It is the sole chance she has.**_

_I glance at Giselle's bandaged hand. It rests on her stomach. The white linen is once again soaked red. I have changed the bandage four times since she incurred the small injury. Each time I have lost more of my sanity, more of my heart, and more of my soul...if I still possess such a thing. I stare at the powder, adding the last ingredient, dark seeds from the poppy flower. I wish against all dreaming, and uselessly, that I had been the one to drink from the poisoned well. I would have died with nothing to give. Thedas would have lost nothing._

_**Giselle has too much...she gives of all that she is and...and the world will grieve, though it may not acknowledge the cause of its tears.** _

_I walk to the fire and take a live coal from the hearth, placing the glowing red ember in a metal bowl. I take the coal, the powder, and the tea to Giselle's bedside, setting them on the nightstand. The physician is conscious, but I can see the horrible pain wracking her body. In spite of it, she smiles at me with pale, blue-tinged lips._

_**Blue is the color of death.**_

_"How are you feeling?" I ask the question to punish myself, to push myself further, to **do** better, to **know** more...it has always worked. It is how I learned. It is how I died...and willingly. _

_"Tired." Her voice rasps as the word leaves her lips and the vulnerability in the sound of it is heartbreaking. "Cold. It's so ha...hard to breathe and I can't...can't manage the pain. Ev...everything hurts."  
_

_As much as I know this, hearing it from her lips cracks something within me, fissuring my spirit. I do not know how to speak across the divide. I do not know how to make this right. All I can do is try, and pray for words. I take the cup of tea in one hand. With the other, I cup the back of her neck, feeling her sweat-soaked hair, wincing at the heat of her skin. I lift the cup to her lips._

_"Drink this." I tell her, pleased as her lips part and she takes slow, long sips of the herb-infused drink. "It is an antidote for one of the poisons. This will curb the fever and ease your breathing."_

_I help her drink until the last of the liquid is gone. I set the cup aside and guide her head back down to the pillows, spreading her hair out so that she does not tangle and pull it. I know the Viper's Kiss. I know that it sets every nerve ending afire, making something, once just discomforting, an absolute agony to experience. Even my touch is hurting her, though I know she will not let on._

_"So," She speaks and, behind the rasp, behind the weakness, there is a smile and a pride in her voice that I do not comprehend, "you managed to suss this mess out then?"_

_"I managed to learn things I had no want of knowing." I reply, unwrapping the fourth blood-soaked bandage around her hand, cleaning the wound and the skin and re-bandaging it._

_She winces at the pain from my simple ministrations, but soon recovers. Her eyes narrow, still that vibrant, haunting green that defies all natural hues._

_"Kathyra...do me the courtesy of telling me what my knowledge has already granted. I am...I am..."_

_"No." I shake my head, refusing to finish her sentence, to speak the word that seems to frighten her, and that chills the very blood in my veins. "There is still much about this that does not make sense, but it is in **no way** an end."_

_"The doubting heart that speaks belief." She murmurs, soft. "An answer and a riddle wrapped in one."_

_I ignore the strangeness of her words as I examine her, frowning at the myriad bruises that mar her skin. They are the dark indigo of internal bleeding...the small vessels beneath her skin are already breaking down under the poison's onslaught. It is no wonder that she is in so much pain. Once again, fruitlessly, I wish that it was me. That our positions were reversed. She does not deserve this._

_"Hell and damnation."_

_"What?" She asks, frowning when I remain silent. "Please tell me, Kathyra. I need...I need to know."_

_I take the crushed herbs and hold them before her eyes. I feel useless, for I am preparing to tell her that...that the sole thing I can do for her is mitigate her pain. It is not nothing but it is...it is not what is done when a life can be saved. Erasing the pain is a kindness given to those who will not survive. Giselle knows this, and I do not know if I can explain that...that this is different._

_"I am going to place a coal on the herbs." I inform her. "I need you to breathe in as much of the smoke as possible."_

_She leans forward to examine the contents and I hear the rattling of her breath. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep me grounded in the present moment. I do not want to think about the future. I want to believe in the now and to fight for a **different** outcome. Giselle deserves to live. _

_"Poppy?" Giselle's brows furrow. "White willow bark, birch leaf, bromelain, and tumeric? Are you...is this..." She breathes through gritted teeth in short, jerking gasps. I know what she believes, and it is breaking my heart._

_**I am not trying to ease your passing, Giselle. I am attempting to give you the ability to fight. Pain is but a symptom, a distracting one that makes you combat it and forget the true poison. Ease the pain, end the distraction.**_

_"Giselle?" I do not know how it is possible, but she looks even paler. Her lips are trembling, but she says nothing. "Giselle?"_

_She begins to cough, soft and light. I wait for it to end, but it does not. The coughing persists, becoming harsher and deeper. Giselle's body is bowed, her head hanging, her shoulders pinched together, her arms wrapped around her waist as the paroxysm takes her in full force. I set the herbs aside and lift Giselle's head, resting it on my shoulder for support, to keep her airway clear. I wrap my arms around her, rubbing my hand up and down her back, feeling her slender form shudder with every cough. It seems to go on forever but, at last, it stops._

_Giselle quakes in my arms, her entire body shaking and in agony. Her panting gasps for air slowly turn into soft sobs. Hot tears fall from her eyes onto my shoulder and I know she has reached the limit of the pain she can endure._

_"I know you do not wish to, Giselle." I whisper against her ear, unable to keep from noticing its delicate point, unable to keep from adoring it. "But you have to accept this treatment. If you do not, this pain will kill you before the poison does. Trust me, please. Help me, please. I cannot bear to see you hurting so."_

_"All...right." She relents, her voice cracking over the words. "I...cannot...endure this...much longer."_

_I bite the inside of my cheek again, attempting to convince myself that Giselle's words meant that she cannot bear the pain...but I know she meant different. I know she is speaking of her inability to bear living under the strain of this Maker-damned plague. I will save her, though. I have to save her, for I cannot live a life without her presence in it._

_I ease her back down onto the pillow and clean the sweat from her face with a cool cloth. She sighs in relief. The fever still rages within her, burning her beneath the skin. There is a blue-black bruise spreading across her neck. I watch the borders of it extend further and further. Her larger veins are giving way to the poison._

_I force myself to focus on the moment. I lift the bowl of crushed herbs once more and pour it into the pewter bowl that holds the glowing ember. Pungent smoke fills the air and I move the bowl beneath Giselle's nose, relief filling me as she breathes deep. I hold my breath as long as I can. I cannot allow my mind to be muddled by the strong herbs. I must remain focused._

_Gradually, the plumes of smoke fade to nothing. The herbs in the bowl are burnt out. I watch as the lines of tension in Giselle's body ease. She sags against the pillows and the mattress. Her eyes no longer hold the sharp pinprick light of unimaginable agony. Her breathing evens, for it no longer pains her to inhale._

_"How do you feel?" I ask, hoping against hope._

_"Drifting." Her words are slurred. "But...my mind is...remarkably clear. Will you tell me now, Kathyra?"  
_

_"There are two poisons in your body." I keep her eyes focused on mine. "One is a simple poison, used to make someone ill for a few days at most. The second is called the Viper's Kiss, and it is..." My mind begins working faster, remembering details, binding random facts together to form a cohesive whole. "It is not a poison. It is a venom. That is why this plague does not make sense. A toxin that affects the blood **must** be introduced **through** the blood, on the blade of a knife or the head of an arrow..." I trail off, attempting to piece together the rest of this puzzle. _

_"And yet?" Her uninjured hand reaches out, latching around my wrist. She squeezes, wanting me to speak, needing the information that I know her physician's mind craves._

_"And yet it was in the water." I shake my head. "Viper's Kiss is harmless if ingested...there is more at work here than some clever, murderous madman."_

_"But there is an antidote, is there not?" She asks, and I wince at the hope in her voice, for I know I am soon to drive a blade through the heart of it. "There surely must be, no matter what method was used to alter the nation of the toxin..."_

_"Giselle." I remove her hand from my wrist, unwilling to touch something so beautiful as I speak the truth that I must, for I cannot kill again. "There is no known cure, no antidote, for the Viper's Kiss. However, it does not kill everyone. Many survive it, though it is a long and difficult trial. I have eased your pain so that your body can combat the venom, instead of being dominated by the agony."_

_"So you are telling me that...that there is a chance?" She asks and her voice does not waver. Her eyes do not lower. "I might yet live?"_

_"Yes."_

_**You have only the slightest of chances, Giselle...but it is still a chance.**_

_She reaches out and brushes her fingertips across the knuckles of my clenched fist. She smiles and the dark shadows beneath her eyes seem to fade. Her eyes glimmer with some strange emotion that makes my heart flip in my chest._

_"Then," She speaks with the iron force of will that I admire and long for, "I fight."_


	21. Mortal Dreams

**Kathyra**

     "Kestrel?" The name crackled through the air the raspy tremor of a lilting Starkhaven accent, a devilish smile and snapping black eyes. "Kes...you there?"

     The faint flicker of light in the corner of the room moved, and I could hear the weariness in the templar private's footfalls as Kestrel walked across the cabin and sat down beside her wounded comrade.

     "Where else would I be?" She asked stroking her fingers through the tangled mess of Rylie's curls. "Do you need anything?"

     "I need," Rylie shifted and groaned, a sound of pain that made me hurt. My heart ached with the knowledge that I could not help ease the pain of the young warrior's first grave injury. "I need...someone to tell me...that...that this isn't the world. That it isn't all...all waiting and grief and barely concealed fear. Please, Kes...I feel so weak...I'm not...not used to it. Tell me this changes."

     I watched the light dance in Kestrel's eyes, witnessed the war in the young woman's heart. She knew that there would be more blood, that war had come once more to Thedas, and that, for a time, there would be little else but suffering and fear. And yet...those eyes...those eyes too much like Giselle's...they lit up and _sang_.

     "It changes, sweet girl." Kestrel whispered, pressing the faintest of kisses to Rylie's brow. "It changes. I promise."

     _You are lying, Kestrel. Nothing changes._ I swallowed my bitterness and breathed, feeling pain fire through me once again, though less, much less than before. _Life is nothing but moments placed between excruciating times of waiting...as we wait for our ship to drag itself across the sea to safe harbor, as the Divine waits for the answers of our mission, as Kestrel waits to declare her love, but no to show it...as Leliana waits and prays to be reunited with her Salem...as Giselle waited...so patient...so beautiful...so **strong.**_

     My heart broke as I wondered if Giselle were still waiting for me, on some unseen, hoped for other side...or if I had left her alone too long.

* * *

_"You are staring out the window again, trickster." Giselle's eyes flutter open for the fourth time since my revelation...the unspoken thoughts between us...that death...no._

_**She said she would fight, and I have to believe her. I have to trust her. After all,**_ _I turn my eyes from the window and savor the sight of her hair aglow in the ambient light of the sun, **she fought the death that would have come for me in this tiny room. If she can make such an effort for a stranger...of how much more value is her own life?**_

_"How do you feel?"_

_"Like those four words should no longer be strung together in any variant of sentence." She teases, but the last of her words are faint...breathless._

_Giselle shifts and attempts to sit up. I place my hand on her shoulder, the tension in my body easing somewhat as I feel that her temperature, while still too warm, is no longer a raging fever._

_"You must keep still." I advise her. "The Viper's Kiss is still running through your veins. You'll do nothing but aid the poison's spread by moving overmuch."_

_She purses her lips together in frustration and my heart beats a fraction faster at the petulant defiance in her expression. "I do not like lying here." She tells me, keeping her voice low. "There is so much to be done, people who need help, who need..." The words die on her lips and I fix my eyes on hers, seeking knowledge in the silence, finding nothing. The veneer of her strength begins to crumble as tears line the base of her eyes like floodwaters kept at bay. "I am lying to myself again." She whispers. "There are none...there are none who need me, are there, Kathyra?"_

_**I need you.**_

_"What would possess you to think something so imbecilic." I ask, and there is a fire building in my hands, a need, a force, a driving pull that I ignore as I have so many times._

_"None have come to seek me." She lifts her uninjured hand and dashes the tears away before they fall. "None have probably even thought to ask."_

_"That is not..."_

_"Do you think I do not hear the whispers?" She asks, and her tone rises, carrying an edge upon it like a well-kept, unused blade. "Do you think I do not see the looks? There is no need of me save for when there is **need**...and no one heals the physician, and no one cries for the lonely soul, and if tears are prayers then there is no god for me in this world, for mine have gone unanswered and unremedied. _

_**What are you saying? Do you not see the good that you do? Do you not trust the strength that has let you defy those who would be the voices of god in this time?**_

_"I do not understand." I confess, extending my burning palm, hoping that there is a use for it._

_Giselle ignores my offered hand and continues to look into my eyes. I sense that she is seeking something, and I know that what she looks for will not be found in my eyes. I have nothing...nothing to render, nothing to give, nothing to repay her._

_"You told me once...that you were a bard. A teller of tales and singer of songs."_

_**A crafter of lies, an architect of demise, a thorn in Destiny's paw.**_

_"Among other things."_

_"Is there a song for the lonely heart, Kathyra?" She asks. "Did one of skill and a follower of beauty ever take pen in hand and write of one who has no world for them? Did my father and mother know that when they mixed their blood that the thing they created would die of the poison in its veins?"_

_"Giselle, you are **not** dying." I tell her, firm, frightened as the pallor of her face and the frailty of her body do all they can to convince me otherwise. _

_"I am always dying, trickster." She counters, coughing into her hand, breathing in shuddering, shallow inhales. "So long I have been content with my calling and my books and my herbs and my skills...never indulging the thought of another life because I have been given...more than I deserve."_

_**You deserve everything, Giselle. You deserve more than what I could give you, if I even dared to try.**_

_A feather-light whisper of skin on skin draws me from the thoughts that venture to dangerous places. Giselle traces the lines on my palm with her fingertips, hesitant, more afraid than I have ever seen her, but it is not the same fear as mine. My fear stems from knowing all too well the consequences of entwined hands and lustful hearts, nakedness and whispers in the dark. Her fear is..._

_"I have never known a lover's touch." Giselle confides. "For who..." She tucks her hair behind her delicately pointed ear, "...who would desecrate themselves with such a thing as I? From the moment I took breath, I have been unclean, Kathyra. And never did I think to mourn the lack but I...I am not human, and I am not elven, but still...still...I am mortal, am I not? Is it not mortality that craves love? Am. I. Not. Mortal?!"_

_Her desperate cry catches in her throat and she begins coughing again. I pull her into a sitting position and she grasps me for support as her body trembles like a willow tree in the midst of a storm. Her tears burn into my shoulder and at last her coughing eases and she collapses against me, spent and fearful and..._

_**...lonely. Another heart walking in darkness. How do I make you see, Giselle? How do I make you understand without sundering your beautiful heart? For I...I have ungentle hands and a tangled spirit not fit for realms of beauty. I shrink away in fear at the touch of another...a touch you have not known...a touch I can never give you, no matter if we both desire it. The shadow you cast is too holy for me to stand in. **_

_"I dream of it." She whispers against my neck and my nerves spark and a shudder ripples through me, unbidden. "I dream of hands that search, and lips that crave, and warmth that longs to be shared. Before, it had no form, and no distinction beyond a phantom of my want. But lately...my dreams...they craft your hands. I see your frightened eyes at last at peace...I am tired of those who have need of me, Kathyra. I simply desire...to be wanted. But you...you are...you could never want me, could you?"_

_Her words lash at me like a maelstrom as I ease her back against her pillows, cushioning her body with my eternally stained, unworthy hands. I know what it is to be wanted, and there is nothing more terrifying, nothing more brutal than when that precious illusion is stripped away. When those who whispered of want spoke from the deep pits of their own desires and let their errant minds run rampant and **stole** what might have been offered. _

_**Do not dream of me, Giselle,** my heart kicks in my chest like a stallion tearing at his bit. _

_The physician's eyes flutter closed and her shallow breathing deepens and evens as confessions and poison and illness sing her back to slumber with their slick lack lullabies. I want to give her all that she desires, and yet I am not fit to do so._

_"My Giselle." I whisper, knowing that she cannot hear; that I am safe to speak. "If only...only I could. I do...I do want you and if...if I were worthy, beautiful girl, I would **love** you."_


	22. World Made of Madness

**Kathyra**

_**Something is not right here.** _

_I pace the floor before Giselle's bed, feeling the pull of the shadows that grow in the corners of the room as the sun begins to set. My footsteps fall in the rhythm of the physician's labored breathing. The rasping sound punctuates my every move, setting even my nerve endings afire as I puzzle through what I am watching._

_**Giselle is young, strong...and yet I am watching her fade. Her body grows cold, her pulse is weak, her breathing labored and yet far too shallow.**_

_I return to the work table and stare into the bowl of blue water as if it has the power to speak to me in my own language. It remains there, holding secrets that I do not understand, even with my knowledge of the darker hearts of men._

_"What do you know?" I ask, speaking to the voices that haunted Leron, the voices of the shadows that seduced Marjolaine...that had come near to seducing me...so many times._

_**The urge to give in, to falter and fall. I came to that edge...before I died...before my sister killed the bard and Giselle attempted to save...to save the woman. I am different in her eyes, I must be...for she has not changed towards me, even though she confesses that I haunt her dreams. Surely no kind God would let the dreams of a healer be tormented by the image of a murderer's hands.**_

_An authoritative rapping on the door turns the warmth near my heart at the thought of Giselle into a shell of ice. A soft moan further rouses me from contemplation as Giselle awakens from the noise._

_"Do not get up." I order her as I go tot he door, knowing that the cadence of the knock belongs to only one member of the Chantry...the woman who is often predisposed to making Giselle's life an utter misery. "I will handle this."_

_I open the door to find myself staring into the heated eyes of Mother Dorothea._

_"Is what Mirien said true?" She asks, offering no greeting, no inane inquiry as to my well-being. "Has Sister Giselle been absent from the clinic for the entirety of the day?"_

_"She is not well." I reply, clenching my hands into fists as the very look on the woman's face makes me desire to strike the arrogance from her expression with the back of my hand._

_"Oh?" Dorothea's brow rises. "Her errand of 'mercy' turned against her? How dreadful it must be, to fall prey to the weakness in one's blood."_

_**You wanted it to happen, you spiteful witch! Do not dare pretend concern! **_

_I stare at Mother Dorothea, seeing her as only a bard could, reading the expressions behind the shield of her portrayed emotion. I use my eyes to pierce the tangled fabric of the heart of a woman too powerful and conniving for her own good. She does not know me, however. She does not know of what I am capable._

_**I have killed for so much less...for a whim, for a fancy. For. A. Thrill. **_

_"There are darker things afoot here than a simple plague, Dorothea." I inform her, standing to my full height, refusing to be cowed by this woman. I do not have Giselle here to protect me with her strength, but she who has always given me that strength has need of it now._

_**I will not fail her. Even if I cannot love her, I will not fail her.**_

_"You say that simply because you are overwrought with worry." Dorothea waves a dismissive hand. "If the Maker wills it, Sister Giselle will surely survive."_

_"The Maker had and has nothing to do with this." I counter. "It was a direct attack against the alienage. The water source was purposefully poisoned."_

_"Kathyra," Dorothea pushes her way into the room and examines Giselle._

_The physician manages to sit upright, though her body trembles from the effort. The sheets are stained where her injured hand is pressed against them, supporting her weakened, ravaged body. Mother Dorothea's gaze turns back to me._

_"A woman in your position should not cling to unrealistically conceived twists of the truth. To comfort your own soul in such a manner discredits your faith." Dorothea turns away from me and looks to the half-elven physician. "As for you, physician, you should not cling to this lie to give you hope. This is a test of faith, to find where your loyalties lie."_

_"Kathyra..." Giselle coughs, and a thread of blood seeps from her nose and drips over the curve of her lip. "...does not lie, Dorothea."_

_"Nonsense." The Revered Mother snaps, seemingly uncaring as she glares at Giselle with no more mercy than ever she has, in spite of the physician's weakened state. "Had you heeded my warnings, had you understood your own weaknesses and refused to be so stubborn, you would surely have avoided this fate and this illness."_

_Unable to bear the sight of this any longer, I grasp Dorothea by the shoulder and spin her about, using her the shocked and silent indignation stamped on her features to speak my mind._

_"Dispense with the self-conceived brilliance of your own mind, you blighted harpy. This **is** someone's plot, someone's ploy, and I swear, by all that is sacred in Thedas, this poison would **kill** any who dared drink it, no matter the heritage in their **fucking** blood."_

_"You will mind your tongue in the Maker's house!" Dorothea reaches back, her palm outstretched to strike me._

_I grasp her wrist, gripping tight enough to bruise her aging skin. My other hand reaches for the bowl of deadly toxin and, without a thought but to silence Dorothea, and save the life of someone who has more right to life, I lift it to my lips._

_"Kathyra, no!" Giselle screams and the outburst leaves her coughing, gasping, and doubled over. I can hear the pain in her labored breaths._

_I spit the water onto the ground as a familiar taste burns my tongue and a scent I know from the nightmares of my former life scalds my senses._

_**But no one who has not tasted it would realize...**_

_I gasp and force my eyes to look at Dorothea as she glares from me to Giselle in confusion, as she loses control of the situation. My mouth and throat are burning, and I do not want to go, but I am being called away. I have to speak...I **must** speak!_

_"Lyrium." I manage to choke past the fear clouding my mind, the vague flashes of memory that swirl to the forefront of my eyes as my knees lose all their strength..._

_**...a lover's caress, a young man's eyes alight with expectation...the shuddering of his breath and smile in his eyes as he loses his innocence in my body...and his life as he sleeps beside me in blissful, childish ignorance...the feel of chilled flesh as I slip the signet ring from his finger...the sheets blooming crimson as I walk away, leaving him wide-eyed and open mouthed...his throat slit from ear to ear and his lips stamped in a permanent, ignorant, sated smile...**_

_"Revered Mother, help her, please." Giselle's voice is stained with tears, dragging me back to the waking world, out of the memory stolen from me by Leron's cruel magic...and returned by the substance which made magic more potent and powerful._

_"Kathyra?" Dorothea kneels down and I realize that I am lying on the floor; that my left hand is clenched in a fist as though I am holding the ring I stole from that man... **he was so young**...that boy. "Kathyra, what in the Maker's name is going on?"_

_"Lyrium." I whisper as I unclench my empty hand and push myself to my feet. "That must be how...the poisons at work have been twisted by magic."_

_"Magic?" Dorothea's eyes flare as she realizes that there might be truth in my words, and that she cannot risk believing them to be a lie. "Are you telling me that this plague was somehow magically caused?"_

_"Maker's fucking breath, woman!" I choke, forgetting myself. " **Yes!** "_

_"I shall attend to this matter immediately, and order an investigation." Dorothea's eyes darken and I **see.**_

_It is all well and good, in her eyes, for Giselle to lose her life in an act of mercy. The stories could be spun to attract the hearts of the naive and inspire them to service...but if the Chantry were touched by dark magic...it could only destroy the reputation that Dorothea has spent her life building._

_The Revered Mother dashes out to preserve the world from magic, and I despise her. Before, it had not mattered that Giselle, one of the Chantry's own, no matter the circumstances, might die._

_**You pathetic wretch,** my heart burns with anger towards Dorothea. **You are worse than even Leron. You have the position and power to do good...but instead of setting yourself to that goal, you seek only more power...and higher position. Bitch.**_

_"Kathyra." Giselle murmurs my name and I turn to her, seeing the pain in her face as she leans forward, the smeared blood of her nosebleed staining her face and neck. "Kathyra, are you all ri..." The word breaks as she begins coughing so harshly she cannot breathe._

_Pushing away the rancid taste of lyrium in my mouth, the memories and nightmares backspiraling me into torment, I sit beside her and gather her into my arms, running my hand up and down her back. Giselle continues to cough and my heart begins to break as I feel once more the heat of her skin beneath my hands._

_Giselle collapses against me as the spasm eases, struggling to breathe as she rests her head on my shoulder. I remember this same moment, so long ago, when Marjolaine clung to me in her fevered dreaming, weeping, begging me to take away the pain, the illness, the hunger and fear. And I failed her. And I lost her. But I had **loved** her._

_"I'm fine." I assure Giselle... **my Giselle**...for I can hear her frantic questions in the hitching of her breath. "I swear it. Rest now, Giselle. Please rest."_

_"Why?" The pain in her question scares me. "Why did you do that?"_

_"I had to save you." I reach up and, for the first time, comb my fingers through her tousled hair, nearly brought to tears by the soft, silken feel of her golden tresses. "I...I do not have the skill...to do it alone."_

_"Are you...the poison...will you..."_

_"No." I assure her, cradling her boy in my arms as I lower her down onto the pillow. "I did not drink. I am **fine.** "_

_"But you fell." She mumbles as I soak a cloth in water and remove the drying remnants of her nosebleed. "I was...so frightened."_

_"Hush now." I tuck her hair behind her delicate, pointed ear. I let my hand linger, realizing that I have needed this, needed touch, needed **her.** "All is well. Go to sleep."_

_"Will you hate me..." Her voice slurs as exhaustion forces her eyes to close, "...if I dream of you?"_

_"No." My throat tightens as my stolen memory, returned by the taste of lyrium, replays in my mind again, fragments of darkness and chaos and evil. A portrait of the woman I once was._

_**I will hate myself, Giselle, for my inability to make your dreams real for you.**_


	23. Want and Weakness

**Kathyra**

_Full dark has fallen, and still no word. The mockingbird sings, the faint sounds filtering through the open window and against my ears. A lilting tune, so at odds with the conflict in my spirit and the sorrowful music of my soul.  
_

_**The mockingbird,** I smile and taste the bitterness of it, **for that is what men would call a creature who has the audacity to sing in the night, mocking God, mocking us...mocking our fears. If you knew the whole of them, Giselle, would you mock me for my fears?**_

_I watch the physician's eyes move restlessly beneath their lids before at last opening. I watch them, and in the bleary moment before a dream is truly vanquished, I witness a paradise unheard of. Her gaze is calm, devoid of the strength that she forces herself to possess, devoid of the burden of worry that she carries under Dorothea's constant scrutiny and thinly veiled attacks._

_My breath leaves me as those eyes turn to mine, and do not change. The dream does not fade; the calm does not vanish. I am her dream, awake and asleep. I do not know if I can fulfill that wish...I am so very afraid even now._

_"Kathyra." She whispers and her hand reaches out for mine, the softest of touches._

_I gasp as I sense the difference in this touch. Her temperature is no longer feverish or freezing. The last bandage I wrapped around her hand is free from blood. I press my hand against her forehead to confirm, allowing relief to flood through me as I feel the cool sweat on her brow._

_Her eyes ensnare me with the power of their dreams as they reach out on some phantom plane and tangle with my own. I fall further towards her and my hair builds a shield around us. Her lips, chapped and pale, curve upwards into a smile, into the sweetest invitation I have ever been given, for there is innocence, and hope, and peace._

_"Kathyra, please."_

_**Make me feel wanted...** I read beyond the words she speaks, listening to the cadence of my name in her voice, like a prayer, like a plea, like a wish unfulfilled. _

_And I do want, and my heart thunders in my chest, and my hand trembles as it traces her cheek, my breath catches as her lips part; the mockingbird's song becomes a cry of joy that shakes me to my very bones and..._

_"...disturbing development, Mother Dorothea." The door bursts open and I flee from Giselle's side, struggling to control my breathing and mourning the death of Giselle's dreams as the sheen of worry flits over her eyes and what strength she can muster is brought to bear._

_Dorothea enters the room and the woman walking beside her chills the blood in my veins. She is tall and statuesque, cutting and imposing figure in the regalia of a Chantry templar. She rests her hand on the hilt of her sword, and I can smell blood on her. Her hair is the color of gold and ash and her blue eyes convey tenacity and cunning. She is a zealot with no room for compromise._

_"This is the woman?" She asks, and Dorothea nods, not even sparing a glance in Giselle's direction. The templar's cold blue eyes turn to me and the power in them is frightening._

_"I am Knight-Lieutenant Meredith." She introduces herself. "And it is of great concern to myself and those who work with me how you discovered the lyrium altering the toxins in the alienage well."_

_I stand there, mute, falling backwards into the horror of my past, knowing that some confession is needed to protect myself from this woman's intense scrutiny. Dorothea has brought her here for a reason. I must play this carefully._

_"M...my father was a mage, knight-lieutenant." I take the truth and mold the lie, a skill learned at Leron's hand and fist. "He was...cruel...to me and my sister. He was angry that neither of us carried enough of his blood; that neither of us possessed his magic. He...he forced us to drink lyrium...to bring out the magic we did not possess. It is how I recognized the taste in the water, Knight-Lieutenant."_

_"Are you certain, child," Meredith reaches out and curls her finger beneath my chin, lifting my eyes to hers, and the edge of her fingernail feels like the point of a blade, "that there is no magic in you?"_

_"Q...quite certain, knight-lieutenant." I stammer, half in mimicry, half in earnest. "We were tested by the templars in my village, after they took my father, Maker bless them for it."_

_"I see." Meredith removes her finger and I bite my lip to control my breathing. "You have saved many lives, my child. My templars and I tracked the spellwork to its source, an apostate testing his work on the alienage elves, with intent to poison the wells of the templar barracks in this very city. When we found him, he attacked us and was summarily...handled." Her lips curl into a thin smile, like a lioness sated from a kill. "All of his magic is rendered null and void. I do grieve for the cruelty of your birth and the burdens with which life has presented you, child, but the Maker had his reasons. You saved many lives this day."_

_**Where was your precious Maker and your templar guards when a mage destroyed my soul and stole my mind?** I questioned as the knight-lieutenant turned on her heel and exited the room. **Where was your "handling" of matters when my memories were stolen from me?**_

_"There walks the Maker's truest servant." Dorothea speaks, watching Meredith walk away. "You have done well, Kathyra, in alerting us to this threat."_

_"I didn't do it for you." I glare at the woman, hating her arrogance, hating her ignorance, despising her pride. "And this is still a sickroom. Get out."_

_"You cannot order me from this room, Kathyra." Dorothea reminds me._

_"Get. Out. Now." I hiss. "Or I will remove you by force. You think yourself so above the rest of us, so clever that no one can see the shadows dancing in the honeyed words you speak? You believe that your feigned care and concern so thinly veil the malice of your cobwebbed heart? Have you even given one moment of thought to Giselle's condition? Or to the elves that **would** have died, had she not cared enough to give them aid? You disgust me, Dorothea."_

_The Revered Mother turns on me like a snake, her eyes flashing with what attempts to be righteous fury, but it is simple anger at slighted pride._

_"One more outburst like that from you, Kathyra, and I will make your life a living hell." She threatens, and I all but laugh in her face._

_"You could not if you tried." I growl, knowing that she has no knowledge of my past, no matter the palms she has greased or the inquiries she has made. I am nameless, faceless, and voiceless in the waking world._

_"Oh, couldn't I?" She smiles, turns her back on me, and leaves._

_**Maker, what have I done?**_

_"Kathyra?" Giselle's soft voice pulls me from my terrified thoughts and I turn to her, looking at the woman for whom Dorothea **could** make life an abysmal nightmare, if she so chose. "Kathyra, you are white as snow. Sit down, please."_

_I sit at the edge of the bed, as far away from her as I can be, and still accede to her wishes. I think of the moment shared between us not moments ago, the kiss that was not, and now...could never be._

_"What is it, trickster?" She asks. "Why is there grief in your eyes?"_

_"Because I but earned you Dorothea's further ire. In seeking to protect, I have only destroyed." I wonder at the words spilling from my lips, confessions of vulnerability...a gift I have never known, save from Giselle. "You are safe though. Save for the blood you have lost, and weakness from the toxins, you will be fine."_

_"Damn that harpy to the hell she creates." Giselle spits. "Kathyra, look at me." I remain motionless. "Look at me, **please**."_

_I relent, turning my eyes to hers, hating that her strength was present there...a strength that I could not hold for her, not without inciting another's anger...not without hurting her._

_"Kathyra, I have never been anything but honest...I know no other way to be. That moment...the moment before Dorothea entered...I want nothing more to experience that again, without interruption. Do you...do you want the same?"_

_**Yes. With all of my heart.**_

_"It cannot be, Giselle." I stare at the floor, at the face of my shadow, the black of the void that is my heart and soul. "Inasmuch as it is desired, I am...I am not the one meant for you."_

_"But you want..." Her voice breaks and the bones protecting my heart snap from the force of it._

_"Yes." I confess, at last. "I want."_

_The hope in her eyes is contrasted by the trembling of her lips. Tears gather and stream down her cheeks; I know, for I am weeping as well, grieving what might have been...grieving the mistake that my heart had been preserved from making...no matter my desire to the contrary._

_I rise, needing to go back to my own room, to the silence of my mind and the torments in its darkened corners. Needing to remind myself of why her heart and mine could not be melded, not be one. Because I am broken, damaged, the cause of destruction and undeserved wrath._

_"Does it always hurt this much, Kathyra?" Giselle asks, and I turn towards her, seeing her unhidden, uncowered, unmoved by my rejection. Her eyes are aglow with determination and light, and it frightens me. "The death of a dream?"_

_**I am not worth fighting for, Giselle. I tried to tell you this when first we met, but you would not believe me. Let it now be proven. Let the dream die.**_

_"The pain lessens." I tell her. "Given time."_

_"I will not believe that." She shakes her head. "And I will not give it time. Time has given me these emotions, allowed me to see that my life is not complete without what all mortals seek. And, for me, that is...it is you."_

_All of the ways I have escaped a similar situation flash through my thoughts. I can sculpt the perfect retort, reach through the cracks in her armor and deal mortal damage to her beautiful soul. It would break the bond she wished to form between us, and I know she is strong enough that forgiveness would be offered to me..._

_"If you ask for more words between us, I will only hurt you, Giselle." I give her honesty. I give her truth. "Please, rest. Let your body heal, and I promise, when you are well again, when you have returned to your calling, you will see things differently. It will all be clearer, come the sun."_

_"Such things are already clear to me, Kathyra." She replies. "But you know me well enough now to understand...that I will respect your wishes."_

_"Do not do so at the cost of your heart." I beg her._

_"Do not deny your desires at the cost of yours." Giselle wipes the tears from her eyes and reaches out. "Please."_

_**I cannot. I am sorry, Giselle...you deserve someone whose strength protects you, not endangers you. You deserve someone who does not know how to lie. You deserve your equal...not your opposite.**_


	24. Turning Far from Fear

**Kathyra**

     "This waiting is interminable." Leliana commented as she slid down the wall of the cabin to sit beside Kestrel. "I would know. I walked across Ferelden for the better part of a year and I feel as if this ship is moving more slowly."

     "I'd move the stars themselves if it would save them." Kestrel replied, pulling her knees in close to her chest. "They are...they are the best women I've ever met. Surely the Maker will honor their lives."

     Leliana frowned, and I knew where her thoughts ventured. To her warden, as mine were fixed on my physician. To those we loved, those we held dear, those we wanted near us in this moment. I would give anything to feel Giselle's hand in mine once more. Just for a moment, a breath...any amount of time.

     "We can but trust." Leliana attempted to comfort the young templar, but I could sense the doubt within her words. The same doubt I had known all too well. Doubt of the gods' mercy.

     "Leliana, might I ask you a question?" Kestrel inquired, her eyes fixed on Rylie's motionless form. Leliana nodded. "How did you know...about you and your wife? How did you know that you loved her; that she loved you...that you were meant for each other?"

     Leliana leaned her head against the wall and stared at the ceiling, reliving memories, revisiting nightmares, reawakening dreams. I knew the wistful expression on her face all too well. I had worn it myself so many times across so many years.

     "She was impossible not to love." Leliana answered. "From the moment I met her, my world changed. I had lost faith in humanity, faith in the power of the heart and love. Salem...Salem disproved every doubt I kept close. Simply being near her was like looking into the countenance of grace personified. And I fought every moment not to love her...losing ground with every attempt. As for how I knew she loved me," Leliana sighed, "Salem never concealed her emotions. Quiet as they were, she did not let them lie."

     Kestrel continued watching Rylie, her eyes sparking with wonder and delight. "I think...I think I understand how you feel."

     _I do as well. I know. Oh Maker, how well I know._

     Tears pricked the back of my eyes and I could not even lift my hand to wipe them away. They streaked down my cheeks, leaving trails of ice in their wake. Ice that I had tried to build into walls around my heart...walls that were torn away.

* * *

     _"Oh, this is just awful." Mirien wipes sweat from her brow, leaving a streak of blood. "An out and out massacre..."_

_I say nothing, focusing on stitching the rather nasty gash across the thigh of a city guardsman. Two weeks have passed since the poisoning of the alienage...two weeks for the elves to recuperate and learn that the humans were willing to let them die...a riot followed. Even the swords and armor of the city guard could not sway the elves, who turned kitchen and gardening implements into weapons and took their vengeance where they could._

_The clinic is overrun with guardsmen and templars bearing wounds from the improvised and stolen weapons. Cries of pain fill the air and the atmosphere is thick with tension and hatred. Giselle has been nowhere to be found, but I know where she is._

_**Among her people...who else would care for their wounds?**_

_I finish the stitching and bandage the wound, feeling guilty. I watched Giselle depart the moment the news arrived, along with the first of the wounded. Her eyes had held such pain, looking at me as she had since the night we nearly kissed. But I had not gone to her, though I wished to be nowhere else but her side._

_**She will see.** I convince myself. **Eventually, she will see and understand...I have no desire to hurt her, but she has...she has...**_

_"Kathyra, over here." Mirien calls and I rise to my feet and walk to her, examining her patient. "I need your hands." The normally chatty physician is clipped and her eyes direct me to the guard's gut wound. "Internal bleeding, severed vein requires cauterizing, and my hand shave been shaking for the last candlemark."_

_I kneel beside the injured guard and take the small bar of iron that Mirien hands me, and hold it out into the candle flame. "I understand." I say, and Mirien's shoulders sag with relief._

_"I would have asked Giselle, but she disappeared and you have the steadiest hands of all of us, excepting her. I just...it's so heartbreaking. Look at the soldiers, Kathyra. They're so young...too young to be immersed in this madness."_

_**But what of the elves? Their children must have been fighting as well. Why does no one see the inequality? Why does no one see that such a tragedy could have been completely averted...if only we would all pull our heads from the sand and realize that we all bleed red. **_

_The tip of the iron glows a dangerous orange and Mirien pulls back the edges of the wound, soaking up the rapidly spilling blood with a wad of bandaging. I seek out the bleeding vein and place the tip of the iron against it, burning it, stopping the spurting blood, thankful that the man is unconscious and cannot feel the horrific pain of being treated._

_"Stitch the wound." I tell Mirien, rising and stretching, attempting to untangle the knots in my back._

_The clinic has gone quiet, many of the soldiers lie sleeping or unconscious, while physicians and their apprentices speak in hushed, worried tones. My eyes seek out the familiar radiance and comfort of Giselle's golden hair, but she is gone from this place, fighting for those who have no chosen warriors._

_**With no one beside her,** I think, and the realization shocks me to the core, **no one to give credence to her actions, no one to care as she exhausts herself. She is so very alone in this cold, cruel world...more alone than I have ever been and I...I am guilty of doing this to her. No matter what we feel, no matter if it must be denied, no one should ever be alone. **_

_"Where is Sister Giselle?" Dorothea enters the clinic and her eyes fix on me. She closes the distance between us. "The captain of the guard was injured during the riot, and he deserves none but our best, which, unfortunately, is still Giselle."_

_"She is not here." I answer, clenching my hands into fists. "You know where she is, Dorothea. Let someone else care for the guard captain. What Giselle is doing is far too important."_

_"She is endangering this clinic." Dorothea hisses, low, keeping our conversation from the ears of others. "And her own life, should the guard believe her to be an elven sympathizer. We cannot afford altruism, Kathyra, much as we would like to. Measures must be taken for the survival of good deeds."_

_**You would kill Giselle by stifling the light in her soul,** I glare at Dorothea, and she takes a step back. **And you would murder others by denying them her gifts.**_

_"Pierce other ears with your warnings." I remove my filthy, blood-stained apron and toss it at Dorothea's feet. "I am going to help her."_

_"You will return her here immediately." Dorothea orders. "Keep in mind, Kathyra, the guard captain is not a patient man."_

_"Best you find another to tend to him, then." I lift my satchel from the floor and sling it across my shoulders. "Giselle and I will mostly likely not return here until the morrow."_

_"Kathyra!" Dorothea snaps. "I warned you once. I will **not** do so again."_

_I clench the strap of my satchel and walk to the Revered Mother. "I know." I tell her, keeping my voice iron and even, as I have seen Giselle do hundreds of times. "And if you truly wish to devote your energies to making my life a misery, then by all means, attempt the feat. I can guarantee you of your failure, for I have walked with demons, danced with murderers, and laughed in the face of death itself. Trouble me and see how powerless you truly are. Harm Giselle in **any** way and I **will** see you lose that which you hold most dear."_

_"How could you presume to know what I hold dear?" Dorothea asks, her nose in the air, her eyes icy blue pinpricks of hatred._

_"Because it is speaking to me in this moment." I smile. "Destroying a reputation is an art, Dorothea, and Giselle is too good a woman to draw a line between what she will and will not be forced to endure. I, however, am not so good a woman."_

_"I do not understand your defense of her." Dorothea shakes her head. "The woman is recalcitrant and stubborn as a Ferelden mule. Her talents notwithstanding, there is a line that **I** have drawn of the abuse I will take from her kind."_

_"No one should be alone, Dorothea." I tell her. "But your soul is so blackened that you have convinced yourself that a life alone is what you desire."_

_"You speak as a woman in love." Dorothea's brows rise and arch, a cruel expression dominating her features. "Giselle has taken vows, Kathyra. I hope that, in your entire disregard for that which is holy, you will at least remember that she is sworn to the Maker and his work."_

_"She is sworn to nothing." I growl, stepping even closer, cataloguing the ways I could strike and render Dorothea powerless to walk, powerless to breathe, powerless to harm another mortal being. "But you and your agenda."_

_"You are fighting for nothing, Kathyra." Dorothea admonishes me as  turn on my heel. "Without this work, this Chantry, this shield, Giselle has and is **nothing.** "_

_"No." I counter. "I have fought for nothing, once. This...this is different."_

_"Young **and** arrogant." The Revered Mother scoffs. "You will learn."_

_"I know enough." I leave the argument on those words and exit out into the night, speeding through the shadows towards the alienage, towards Giselle, towards a new realization._

_**We are both alone in this world. We have been turned out of our homes and decried by our people. Even so, Giselle is willing to fight, for her place, for her life...I do not want to be another battle she must endure. I will help her, no matter the cost. And I will hope...I will hope for her forgiveness.**_


	25. The Truth

**Kathyra**

_The streets are dark and stained with the stench of blood. I walk, careful, knowing that I, by my very nature, by being nothing but human, have become the enemy of those who dwell here. Through the darkness and the smudge of smoke, I can hear the anguished cries of lovers bereft of those they loved, mothers mourning their children, elders grieving the impetuous nature of youth.  
_

_**We are no different,** I think as I seek for Giselle, knowing that she will be in the thick of whatever is happening, be it bloody revolution, or taut and anxious waiting. **Why can no one see that we are no different? Why is Giselle despised for being of two bloods when both of them are the same? It is only our appearance that marks us, the worshiping of different gods, the languages we speak, the manner in which we dwell...such trivial, meaningless things.**_

_**So why is one considered better than another? Why is it deemed fit for one race to lord over the others? Did not Andraste march on Tevinter for just such a reason? Why is prejudice allowed to run so rampant when legends and tales and songs beyond ending were written for one who defied the so-called "natural order"? I do not understand.** _

_I enter the main courtyard of the alienage, grieving as I witness the one tree in the center of it...engulfed in flames. Smoke hangs thick in the air and the tears on the faces of the elven elders are streaked with the black of soot and ash and grief._

_**How much death can one people endure?** I wonder as I watch the symbol of what the elves once were slowly wasting away beneath the merciless lick of flames. **First the 'plague' and now this. Giselle, my heart breaks for you. You are forced to watch, stuck in a place between the light of either world, able to do nothing to change the mind or alter the actions of either...at least...in my shadows, I had power, such as it was.**_

_I tuck my hair behind my ear, watching as the smoke spirals into the night sky, carrying away the souls of the dead to a place where they are warm, and safe, and no man's slave. At least, I pray that is true. I pray that there is a god of kindness for the elves, one who answers prayers, and does not remain silent in his paradise, heartbroken by the fate of his prophet. Just as I pray that there is a god for the broken, the lonely, the murderer, the liar, the thief...a god who will see fit to right the injustices committed, if the hands that performed the deed are repentant...if they strive to undo the wrongs they have done._

_The faintest skitter of sound catches my ear and I am instantly on guard, reaching back as the distinct melody of metal striking through the air announces that all is not well. My fingers close around a thin wrist and I pull my attacker forward, using the momentum of their strike against them, flinging them into a nearby wall. The dull kitchen knife clatters against the cobblestones and I lift my hands as I look at the body of a young elven boy. His grey eyes are dark with hate as he regains his breath and rises to his feet._

_"What are you doing here, shem?!" He screams, fury in his as-yet unmatured voice. "Haven't your people done enough!? Are you here to spill more elven blood!? Are you!? **ARE YOU!?** " _

_"No." I tell him, becoming worried as those who surrounded the tree in sorrow now turn their eyes to me in rage. "Please...I have no desire...I do not want..."_

_They surround me and the first blow lands before I can deflect it, striking across my face and dizzying me. I drop to my knees as the world spins in front of me, wondering what madness possessed me to come here._

_**This course of action was against all rational thought...** I gasp as a decisive kick forces the air from my lungs and I curl into myself in hopes to prevent more damage to my body. **I only desired to help...** The world goes a little darker as the toe of a boot collides with the back of my neck. _

_I hear metal scraping against stone and I know someone has found the knife. Multiple hands pull me to my knees and a fist strikes my face. One...two...three times. My lip splits, my nose bleeds, and I can taste blood in my mouth and feel the bruises spreading around my eyes._

_A barrage of language assaults my ears, but the manner in which they speak is more eloquent and telling than every word of every tongue. I am to be their vengeance, to burn as what they loved was burned, to be butchered as those they loved were butchered...to continue the cycle of hatred and death between both races._

_"Clear the way!" Someone shouts, the furor dims, and I open my swelling eyes as the hands that assaulted me hold still. "What is the meaning of this?" A gravelly voice that I recognize breaks across the crowd. "Our children dying, our homes ransacked, the Vhenadahl burning, and instead of attempting to rebuild, I find you seeking to destroy. Look at me, shemlen."_

_I turn my face to his, recognizing the alienage Elder we had spoken to when Giselle came to aid during the plague, the man who had named me a friend to him and his people, the one who had been certain he would die. Yet here he stood, alive and well, freed from the plague, only to witness the massacre of his people._

_"You?" He asks. "You are the healer, are you not? You have come to us before."_

_"Yes, Elder." I answer, my voice muffled by the pain of my split lips. "I came seeking Giselle, to render aid where she might need it. I came...I came in hopes to help your people."_

_"Lies!" The boy I disarmed shouts. "Shemlen lies! She would just as soon..."_

_"Quiet, young one." The Elder rumbles, his voice low and menacing, like thunder at a distance. "I will take you to Giselle. This woman is under my protection." He announces, and the hands holding me captive relinquish their grip. "If any ills befall us from her presence, the blame rests on my shoulders."_

_Grumbling, dissenting, torn from their opportunity for vengeance, the elves grumble and begin to stalk away, one by one, leaving me and the alienage Elder alone. He offers a weathered hand to aid me, apologizing for his people with a smile full of grief._

_"Forgive the young, lady healer." He entreats as I lock my hand with his and rise to my feet, knowing that tomorrow I will be in pain and badly bruised. "When patience avails nothing, they turn to rage. When rage avails less...they turn to hatred. And it is in hatred that grievous actions are committed."_

_"I know that rage." I tell him as he leads me towards a flame-scorched building, where several families wait, anxious for news of their loved ones. "I understand."_

_"You did not intend to harm the boy?" The Elder's keen eyes look into mine._

_"Not after he was disarmed." I answer, hoping that my words are true, for if he had attacked me again...instincts are so very difficult to deny._

_"And is the skill of disarming taught to all healers?" The Elder pushes open the door, leading me into a makeshift infirmary where one exhausted, spirit-weary, **beautiful** half-elf stands in the midst of chaos, directing it, channeling it into order and safety and rest._

_"I was many things before I was a healer." I reply._

_My voice catches Giselle's attention and she looks up. Relief and a smile immediately flash across her face, until she sees the blood and bruising on my skin. She rushes across the room and assesses the injuries, her hands ghosting across my skin, sending shivers down my spine...a reaction that has nothing to do with fear._

_"Why did you come?" She asks, hands on my shoulders, standing at arm's length, scrutinizing me. "You knew it would be dangerous."_

_**I worried for you. I thought you might need me. I am here solely because I have no desire to murder Dorothea in cold blood.**_

_A litany of replies runs through my mind. Instead, I smile, assuring her that I am well, that no harm has been done._

_"I wanted to be with you." I answer._

_Her lips part in a sudden smile, like the sun breaking through the clouds. Light strikes her eyes and the Elder grins as well, a knowing look on his weathered features._

_"Come along, then." Giselle waves for me to follow. "There is much work to be done, and I am in sore need of another set of skilled hands."_

_I move to follow, but the Elder stays me with a hand on my arm. He looks at me, then towards Giselle, a canny grin in his eyes._

_"Those many things you were..." He references my statement of earlier, "...but masks to hide your true face. Ponder that, emm'asha. Ponder that."_


	26. To Risk a New Beginning

**Kathyra**

_"Maker's blood-soaked breath." I whisper, my heart heavy at the sight of what happens when the weak dare to oppose the strong.  
_

_I do not have the heart for anger, however. There is room in my heart for nothing but sorrow. Giselle's eyes fill with tears as we gaze upon the bodies of the dead...those we were too late, or unable, to save. They are prepared for the pyre by those with greying hair and wrinkled hands...and those whose eyes had not yet been scarred with the cruelties of the world._

_One body in particular holds my attention. I stare at it, fixated in a macabre sorrow. A young elf maiden, her face serene, her eyes closed. Her hands, what is left of them, charred and blackened skin with visible bone, have been crossed over her chest, and in the, a tiny twig with a single green leaf._

_"Who is she?" I ask Giselle._

_"The alienage Elder's oldest granddaughter." Giselle answers, and her voice is haggard with the stain of smoke inhalation and exhaustion. "She attempted to save the Vhenadahl from the flames...to fight for what little of her heritage remained. In the end, it was not the flames that took her, but the smoke that stole her breath."_

_I silence myself, looking once more at the young elf, dead before her time, perishing while fighting for something that Giselle could never claim. Heritage. Family. A place of belonging._

_"The branch she carries is a symbol." Giselle continues, forcing herself to speak through the grief that so clearly haunts her. "It symbolizes that life will continue, that the People will rebuild and carry on, as ever they have. That they will live in the face of great trial, with remembrances of losses and sorrows, taking comfort in the knowledge of new tomorrow."_

_Touched, I reach out and place my hand on Giselle's shoulder, the slightest of movements, not meant for anything but to comfort her. She turns into the touch, looking so fragile, so childlike and broken in the face of this great sorrow. Without thinking, I pull her towards me and wrap my arms around her, sensing, as only a bard can, the words she cannot bear to speak._

_**And this is what was meant as our true calling. To speak of the sorrows held in silence, so that the world might learn. We were not meant to take the secrets of the might and splay them naked before the world. We are the writers of history, those who dwell in the shadows and see in equal measure the darkness and light. This world has gone deaf, blind, and mute. If not us, who will speak for the lonely heart.**_

_**How did the bardic arts change from being arts of healing and creation to the art of death?** _

_"You grieve for her, and yet you will be turned from this gate." I whisper. "Unable to bear anything but their grief...for in their joy they would deny you, no matter that you share their blood, no matter that their lineage continues in you."_

_Giselle's hands curl to fists as she clutches my shirt. Her shoulders shake with quiet weeping and I tighten my grip, shoring her up, holding her against the onslaught of the truth she acknowledges with her tears._

_**Too high a price to pay,** I watch the glittering diamonds slide down her cheek. _

_The sun peers over the horizon of Val Royeaux, a vicious light shining in both hope and damnation. Hope for the elves, who will remember this moment in the light of day, gather solace from their families, grieve their losses, take comfort in their symbols. But the one I hold dearest to me, the one whose tears are shed for all men of all races, will have nowhere to turn. No hoe to go to, no family to take her in their arms and help her to stand against the blinding light of a new dawn._

_"Come with me." I entreat her._

_Giselle looks up, confusion in her red-rimmed, exhausted eyes. "Wha...where?"_

_"Away from death. Away from duty. For one day, Giselle. You have striven so hard, for so long, and none have thought to offer you a moment of rest."_

_"Because there is no escape, Kathyra." She dries her eyes and looks to the pyre rising in the center of the alienage, where the dead will be mourned and sent to the Creators. The sound of axes rings out through the morning as the charred and blackened Tree of the People is cut down...so that they can rebuild._

_"Perhaps you are right that there is no escape." I admit. "But I promise you that respite can be found." I assure her, finding that the words I speak are strange. I am a foreigner to hope, an alien to comfort...but that is all I wish to offer her in this moment._

_**I want to carry your burdens, beautiful girl. For a blink, a candlemark, a day. Just for a day, let me take your suffering...let me ease your loneliness.**_

_"Show me." Her words are not an order, but a plea._

_I take her hand in mine and we walk from the alienage, unseen and unmissed by those who dwell there...those who will only accept her as one of them when in need. I lead Giselle through the secret streets of Val Royeaux, the streets so often untraveled and unknown, silent as suited both of our needs._

_Soon, the noise of the sea greets my ears as we emerge beyond the walls of the city. We walk through the sand, letting the water lap at our feet, easing the aches and pains of strained hours attempting to save lives. At last, we come to the place I've sought out, a cove of rocks, worn smooth from the constant lashing of the sea._

_I climb the rocks and aid Giselle, smiling in spite of the split in my lip, wondering at the lightness of my heart in this moment. We spent the day and night in courtship with death, hand in hand with suffering, the echoes of grief so terrible there were no words in any tongue to describe them aptly. We reach the top of the cove and I lead her to the single tree that stands atop a hill of lush grass, overlooking the power and majesty of the sea. Giselle stops and catches her breath, her lips parting in awe, her eyes sparking with delight._

_"It has...it has been so long since I have been out of the city." She whispers._

_I look back to the bright and shining city that is Val Royeaux, the Divine's tower cutting into the skyline like a slap in the Maker's face. "Why?" I ask. "Why have you not walked away?"_

_"There is...great need within those walls." Giselle replies, but her eyes are fixed on the sea, on the wide open world that could have been hers...were she not of mixed blood. "It is my calling, and I cannot stray."_

_"Be that as it may," I stand behind her and follow the line of her eyes to that most distant and beautiful of horizons, "I **want** you here, with me, in this moment. This is...this is where I came, so often, when I needed my freedom from Leron. I dreamed a life away fro this city and the nightmares it holds for me. I returned, though. I returned for Marjolaine, for she stopped coming here with me after he took us under his roof. And now that city...my prison...holds no darkness for **her.** She has become its shadows, its lies, its infidelities...she has crafted a web of jewels and silks...she is immune to primal beauty any longer."_

_"This..." Giselle turns her gaze from the sea and I feel my breath catch at the radiance of her eyes, "...this is your place of comfort, of solace, and you...you trust me enough to bring me here?"_

_"Yes." I lean against the trunk of the tree, feeling grounded as the bark presses through my shirt and against my back, solid, warming, secure._

_**Secure as I am in her presence. Solid as I feel when she seeks my eyes. Warming...the way I flush when her skin meets mine. Yes, Giselle...I have brought you here for deeper reasons than even I comprehended...and as I can read you, so you understand me.**_

_"Will you also allow me into your fears?" Giselle asks, and I know the question should terrify me, but here I feel only peace. "Am I welcome in the dark places of your mind, Kathyra?"_

_"And if I allow you there?" I ask, still hesitant, but I am willing, willing for the first time to consider it._

_**Will you revile me? Will you leave if your ideals are shattered by the evil left to lie inside my heart?**_

_"I would..." Her hand reaches up and brushes the abrasions on my cheek, the split in my lip, the bruises earned by coming to her side, "...I would...I would not run, Kathyra. I knew the moment you sharnk from my touch that...that I wanted--and still want--nothing more than to leave you with sweeter dreaming. Let me in. Please. Let me in."_

_I look to the sea, seeking an answer. Not the answer I have given myself in the past; not the answer that my fear forges into immutable truth._

_**Let go.**_

_The waves crash against the rocks and the salt spray kisses my cheek with a stinging bliss. I inhale deep of the crisp, clean air, letting the world fall away, leaving nothing but me and Giselle in a crystalline, glorious moment of freedom._

_So, in answer, I say nothing. I reach up, breaking a tiny twig, bearing a single leaf, off of the tree. I breathe deep, and press the twig into Giselle's hands._


	27. The Sweetest Song

**Kathyra**

_Giselle cradles the twig in her hands as though it is glass, fragile and breakable and beautiful and hard-won. It is a symbol of the elves, of the People...the People of whom she would be one, if given the chance. It is also a symbol of my heart, that which was as blackened and charred as the Vhenadahl in the alienage.  
_

_**You gave me a new life, Giselle. You took that which was broken and gave it structure. You took that which was damaged and gave it purpose. You took that which was lonely...and remained beside it.**_

_"I know what this means..." She whispers, and her voice carries, even over the roaring of the sea. "Will you tell me what it means to you, Kathyra?"_

_It is a test, and a kind one. She is asking for my words, for a defined statement of this symbol, which she gave to me when I asked. I owe her no less. I want to give her nothing less than all that I have, and all that I am._

_"Hope." I breathe, the word tasting sweet on my lips. "And peace. And promise. And prayer. I am..." **those many things you were...but masks to hide your true face.** "I am willing, Giselle. But I am still damaged, still locked between the life before and the life you have given me and I am afraid...I do not wish to use you as I have used others."_

_"Tell me what you mean." Her voice is strong, but unafraid, unashamed, and gentle, gentle like the slightest blow to the back of the knee--able to bring one to the ground, but cause no pain._

_"I...I once used the illusion of love in order to gain things. Secrets. Possessions. Tools. I can manipulate with a whisper in the right moment. I can take a life with a kiss. I am...I am terrified of myself, Giselle. It is only...it is only in our eyes that I see my reflection and am not haunted by it."_

_There are tears in my eyes now, tears as I confess the fears that have haunted me for years, unable to be visited, considered, or mourned. I have sacrificed that grief due to the constant threat to mine and Marjolaine's lives. No longer do I need to sacrifice. No longer do I need to flee._

_"What do you see in my eyes, trickster?" The moniker is warm, like a welcome embrace in the dark, a roaring fire on a winter's night._

_My lips tremble as I reach out and stroke her cheek, a faint whisper of skin on skin, a timid plea from a sinner's lips._

_"All that I desire to be." I answer, feeling heat spread through me like a fire's beginning, relief as I admit my flaws and failures, strength as I confess my weaknesses. "Compassionate. Fierce. Loving."_

_"Lonely?" Giselle asks, searching my eyes for her own answers, her own reflection; wondering who I see when I look at her._

_I gaze beyond her to the sea, amazed as I realize that it is Giselle's very soul. Wide, expansive, willing to embrace any and all who came to her, to give life. Endless time stretches back to the horizon, time given to heal, time given as a gift...but so alone. Traveled upon, taken from, but left when the journey is ended. Abandoned when the way has been found. Forgotten when the goal has been reached._

_**Lonely sea, lonely heart, and it thrashes against the shore, never able to reach those who once loved it...who once used it and gave nothing back. Who called it home until a new horizon caught their eyes.**_

_"There is a song for the lonely heart, Giselle." I tell her, emboldened by her trust, by her seeking of my heart, her desires for my fears. Brave enough to terrify myself._

_"Will you sing it for me?" The query is tentative, fearful..._

_**...afraid of dropping the wall she constructs against loneliness...as afraid as I am, but desperate. Desperate to cease thrashing against the shore and at last have something deeper than a calling to cling to. Desperate for someone to stay...**_

_I reach out and take her hand, pulling her towards me. The distance between us is closer than we have ever been, aside from the times we have healed each other._

_**In more than just body. You are healing my soul, Giselle. You have made me believe again. In your loneliness, in your tragedies, as you struggle through them, you are my guiding constellation, and where you are is home to me.**_

_"Kathyra, what..."_

_"Do you trust me?" I breathe the question, cradling her cheek with my trembling hand, needing her believe, because she does not have the strength to be broken again...and I do not have the will to deny my screaming, thundering heart._

_"With more than my life."_

_"Then let me sing."_

_I lower my forehead and press it against hers, looking into her eyes, filled with longing and need and dreams so long denied for fear of them breaking. She smells of smoke and blood and herbs, and the wind blows her hair against me. Her hand reaches up and wraps around my wrist, pressing my hand further against her skin, waiting for a melody I have never before let ring._

_My entire body trembles as I press my lips against hers, relieved by the pulse of pain from the tear in my skin, for it assures me that I am alive, and not dreaming. I have kissed before, but always it led down a darker path. Here, in my place of security and comfort, nothing can assail me, no nightmares can raise their voice, no memories can dissuade. Nothing can tarnish this gift, for it is given in love, and love alone._

_The softest, sweetest sigh echoes against my lips and Giselle moves closer. I wrap my arm around her waist, pulling her tight to me as I shore myself up against the tree. I keep the kiss light and gentle, delicate and full of promise, knowing that deepening it now will pull me backwards into shadows, away from the only place I desire to be._

_Giselle's lips move against my own, hesitant, unskilled, but with unbridled passion, unmitigated emotion. Her lips taste of freedom, like lemon and honey, cleansing and sweet. After what seems an eternity, I break the kiss and lean against the tree, holding her in my arms as she shivers._

_I stroke my hand through hair the color of sunlight, tucking it behind her pointed ears, smiling as she blushes a deep crimson and shyly lowers her eyelids._

_"What manner of song was that, Kathyra?" She whispers, resting her head against my chest, clinging to me, letting me heal myself with her touch._

_"Bards have a saying...one that I never understood until now." I tell her, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Sometimes...the sweetest song is silence."_

_She lifts her head and looks at me, examining the bruises and cuts I earned by needing, **wanting** to be at her side. Her lithe, dainty fingers reach out and thread through my own. With her other hand she takes the twig, tucking it into her shirt, against her heart. _

_"Then know that, no matter the place, no matter the moment, no matter the cost..." Tears fill her eyes and spill over, staining her flushed cheeks with their diamond glitter, "...I shall always be singing, and only for you."_


	28. Passion and Pain

**Kathyra**

     "It was...it was a perfect day." I awoke to the sound of Kestrel's quiet voice and its low, Ferelden rasp. "The sun in a cloudless sky, the music of swords clashing together. And there I was, frightened and alone and weak from blood loss...then, all of a sudden, from the corner of my eye, I saw her." The templar private smiled at what was obviously the recollection of a memory. "I'd never seen someone so vibrant, so focused on the art of living that the art of survival played second string...does that even make sense?"

     Leliana's soft laughter echoed through the cabin and I found my heart lifted by the sound of it.

     _Maker, her laugh is beautiful. It captures her entire spirit and writes it into a song. Why? Why now, at the end of my life, at the end of my time, do I awaken to confusion and pain? Have I not earned my rest...have I not given enough...was a life denied and deprived not worth an early respite? My heart...my heart does not want to feel again. I do not want to love again._

     "It does, indeed." Leliana answered. "Though I do not know what would possess one with those traits to become a warrior."

     "Forgive me, Leliana." Kestrel sighed and her shoulders slumped with exhaustion as she heard more in Leliana's words than the woman herself spoke. "I did not meant to take you back into unpleasant memories."

     "Only in experience were they unpleasant." Leliana recalled. "In my vision, the warden was terrifying. I saw her swords soaked with gore, a sheen in her eyes that I did not understand. When I first set eyes on Salem, she was covered in blood and dirt; her armor was ragged and in need of mending. I feared her, but, somehow...I knew her, and I knew that she had need of me. But later...I found what you see in Rylie. That vibrant light, the confidence and compassion of a woman who _knew_ who she was, _knew_ how she wanted to live and would let nothing, not even a Blight, dissuade her."

     "Leaving you hopelessly captivated, unable to think of anything but what it would be like to be loved by such a force and touched by such a hand?" Kestrel asked, revealing her heart as she inquired of Leliana's.

     "Similar...different." Leliana mused. "Love has many different faces, and some minds might think them masks, but I am inclined to believe that all of them, in truth, are love. Once, in love, by love, I _was_ held captive. With Salem...at first, I looked out for and anticipated the shackles that she would bind our hearts together with and they...they never came."

     "Did you miss them?"

     "I thought I did...for once, I thought them necessary. And then, in a time of loss, a time of fear, when I was too weak to continue, Salem let me go. She gave me the one gift I had never been given..."

     "Time." Kestrel realized. "Even when she had none for herself, she still gave it to you...I could only hope to be so kind."

     "You remind me of her." Leliana said, and I watched the templar private veritably glow from the praise. "The ridiculous calm that is not stoicism, not bravado...but simple peace."

     _Is that what you seek, Leliana?_ I wondered. _A heart at peace? Would ou ask that of any that you love...or just from your warden?_

     "Perhaps it is not peace, but resignation." Kestrel theorized, perhaps frightened at being held alongside the vaunted figure of Salem Cousland, a slayer of gods.

     "There is a peace that can be found in knowing who you are...it is something I did not experience for many years." Leliana's tone held hesitation, as though she felt ill at ease, for the first time perhaps finding herself older and wiser than another. "It is something I do not believe Salem ever struggled with."

     _I did_...I remembered the moment when all was well within my world...and the moment that it shattered.

* * *

     _The journey back into the city holds no pain for me. This is the first time I can remember it being so. But this time, in leaving my place of solace and comfort, I am taking a part of it with me, a part of it that beats in another's heart; that she holds in her hands and keeps safe for me._

_There is fear in my heart, but it is kept at bay with every pulse of blood flowing through my veins, with the calm assurance of Giselle's hand in mine. I feel secure, and, for the first time, worthy. Worthy of the trust that this woman with no home and no country has placed in me._

_"Your eyes are dancing, trickster." Giselle speaks, a gentle, teasing note in her voice._

_"I once loved to dance." The walls of Val Royeaux come ever nearer, and I feel as though I can see through them, into the ornate marble halls where I danced to seduce, danced to enrage, danced to deceive._

_"I never learned." I hear her sorrow now, sorrow for things lost, but never mourned. Not until now._

_**Could it be?** I ask myself. **Could it be that I am able to give her...good things? That what has been destroyed for me can be new in her eyes...and could I see it as new once more, and re-learn the definition of joy? Dare I even harbor that hope?**_

_"If you so desire," My mouth goes dry with anticipation, with hope, with dreaming, "I can teach you."_

_"Would you?" Her eyes ignite. "I...i do not even know where to begin, Kathyra. I am adrift and delirious and happy and...and so very **frightened**. I want so much to give, but I am so uncertain of what, or how, or when. You were...you were the first who ever wanted...anything from **me**."_

_"What about Cyril?" I ask, finding the revelation strange. In the confines of the clinic, Giselle is constantly sought after for her knowledge, and, beyond that, her innate skill with healing._

_Giselle rolls her eyes, endearing her to me yet further. "That pretentious brat. He wanted nothing more than to be apprenticed to the **most** skilled, the **most** experienced...unfortunately for him, that happened to be me. He only wanted that bit of prestige...and then you asked...you struck down the sun of a duke and you **asked**."_

_"I asked for selfish reasons, Giselle" The truth pours out of me and it is new and empowering. "You...you should not thank me for that."_

_"But I do. And I will." Giselle sets her lips in a stubborn line. "You saved me from Cyril. You saved me from Dorothea's scheming. And now...now you have saved me from myself, from a life of dreams unrealized. Kathyra, I...I did not lie when I told you that I had never known a lover's touch."_

_"I know." We stand in the doorway of the Chantry, in the most beautiful city in all of Thedas, but all that grandeur dims as I gaze at Giselle...all of the opulence pales in comparison to the light in her eyes._

_"You **don't**." She stresses. "Yours was...yours was the first kiss I have ever known."_

_**What?** The revelation stuns me. **You would give me something so pure? You would entrust me with...with a memory that will ****never** **fade?**_

_I open my lips to reply when the door of the Chantry swings wide, revealing the wrathful countenance of Revered Mother Dorothea. She is flanked on both sides by men of the city guard._

_"There they are." Dorothea speaks. "I cannot account for their whereabouts, sers, but I do believe them to have provoked and aided the riot in the alienage."_

_"And you are willing to rescind the Chantry's protection?" The guard sergeant asks._

_"I am." Dorothea forces false regret into her eyes as she looks at Giselle. "Forgive me, sister. It is but for a short time, so that you will learn where your loyalties must lie. As for you, Kathyra," Dorothea's lips curve into a sinister smile, "you were **warned**."_

_A guardsman lays his hand on Giselle's shoulder and white-hot fury shreds through me. I reach for my belt and pull the weapon I have never ceased to carry. Rough, strong arms grasp me about the waist and a flash of metal speeds through the air...a sword hilt strikes me across the temple. Blood pours into my eye and the world goes dark at the edges as my knees give way._

_Giselle's terrified features fill my vision as the hilt crashes down once again, leaving my ears ringing with but one sound..._

_" **Kathyra!** " Giselle's voice...screaming my name. _


	29. At Corruption's Whim

**Kathyra**

_Awareness dawns, slow. First, the stench. Molded straw, blood, and the rank odor of unwashed bodies. Second, the sounds. Monotone drip of water against stone; whispers in the dark, carried on frightened voices; the skittering footfalls of rats. Third, the feeling. Pounding ache in my skull, cold of the stone beneath me, and warmth...warmth from the long, slender fingers threading through my hair and the soft cushion my throbbing head rests on.  
_

_"Please, open your eyes." Giselle whispers, her voice faraway and pleading. "Kathyra, I'm afraid."_

_Those words rouse me fully and I open my eyes, feeling sick as the world spins and twists in front of my vision. I can suffer through this, if only to **never** hear those words from between her lips again. Giselle should never have cause to fear. I do not want her to be afraid. Ever.  _

_"Giselle, what..." I attempt to sit up and feel as though a knife has been driven into my eyes. I gasp and bite back a cry, unwilling to draw any attention to us, no matter where we are._

_Then her hands are on me, one around my shoulder, the other cradling my neck. She guides my head down to rest on her lap. "Hush," She whispers as I attempt to breath through the onslaught of dizziness and pain. "It's all right. I'm here. Lie still, Kathyra. Please, don't move."_

_"What...happened?" I ask through gritted teeth, attempting to find solace in her touch, in her presence. However, I can sense her fear, and it infuriates me._

_"I do not...I do not rightly know." Giselle shakes her head and watching the motion dizzies me. "Dorothea turned us over to the city guard. We are...we are in a cell. Underground."_

_"Have you been hurt?" I ask the question closest to my heart._

_**How did this happen? From a perfect moment to utter chaos, and now I am useless with a damned head injury! Dorothea, I swear by all that is unholy, I will make you regret this! **_

_"No." Giselle assures me, combing her fingers through my hair once more. "I'm unharmed, but...you have been unconscious for nearly two candlemarks and you have a nasty gash near your temple. I...I cannot even see clearly enough to assess your injuries properly."_

_"I've had worse." I steel myself, close my eyes, and force myself to a sitting position._

_I hunch over as more pain assaults me, shivering from my head down to my spine. I hunch over, gasping, struggling to breathe through it. Giselle steadies me as I fight down the dizziness and nausea. She holds me close and whispers in my ear._

_"Do not tell me such things." She begs. "I hate this, Kathyra. I hate seeing you in pain and not...not being able to do anything for it."_

_**How can you remain so calm, so unconcerned for yourself? We are in a prison cell! The Revered Mother of the Chantry betrayed you! An enemy like that and you are worrying over me!? **_

_"I am more concerned for you at the moment." I tell her, tugging my hair behind my ear and wincing at the texture and stickiness of blood that clings to it._

_"Dorothea said this is temporary." Giselle retains her composure. "That bitch cannot touch me and she knows such a thing full well. My father may be dead, but my half-brother holds the title. We were raised together. He holds the ear of those far more powerful than Dorothea, and as children we were close. She can do nothing to me without risking the displeasure of the nobility."_

_I can hear the shivering in her words, the silent prayers that echo in the silence--prayers that what she tells me still rings true. And, for her sake, I can allow her the illusion of belief, but I have been taught differently. Blood can and **will** betray blood, for the simplest of reasons. Bonds forged in childhood and trials endured seem to pale and fade away into the fulfillment of expectations and searches for selfish desires. In Val Royeaux, gold is thicker than blood. _

_"She rescinded the Chantry's protection of you." I attempt to persuade Giselle to feel fear in this situation._

_The city guard is filled with corruption. I have bribed them with gold, with illicit pleasures, and flesh. They are more than willing to turn a blind eye. Giselle is innocent to many of the evils of the world, but she cannot be so any longer. Not with Dorothea playing the infernal Game against the woman I love._

_"It was a simple tactic, meant to inspire fear. I will not give into her game, Kathyra, whatever it may be."_

_"These games will get you killed, Giselle." I reach for her in the darkness and fell comforted when her hand touches mine._

_"Says the woman who pulled a knife on four of the city guardsmen." Giselle speaks, and there is heat in her tone. Her fingers gingerly graze the gash in my skin. "What possessed you to do that, trickster?"_

_I hang my head, almost ashamed, wondering if she will forgive me. "They laid hands on you..." My voice trails off as the defense feels too weak._

_"You risked your life to protect me?" She asks, a note of reverence in her voice that I do not understand._

_"Yes."_

_Silence reigns for a long moment, then is broken. In the quiet, I can hear a new sound...the soft, muted notes of sorrow. I reach out with a trembling hand, seeking out Giselle, grazing her cheek, feeling the tears that spill from her eyes and wiping them away._

_"You beautiful fool." Giselle breathes. "This game with Dorothea has become dangerous...but I...I have never had anything to lose. But if she knows anything of you...if these guards realize who you were..."_

_**Were, she says. Not are...**_

_"I will **not** let that happen." I promise. "And I will see you free from this place, if it is the last thing I do."_

_"You are in no condition to do anything." She says, stern, with an undertone of worry. "Head injuries are nothing to be flippant with, Kathyra. Serious damage might have been done."_

_"I am..."_

_"Staying here." A cold, austere voice whips across the stone floors. The flicker of torchlight pervades the cell and I slam my eyes shut as the pain in my head grows worse and nausea takes hold._

_**I would know that dreadful voice anywhere. What do you want, Dorothea?**_

_"I have been given an epiphany, Sister Giselle." Dorothea states. "And I am afraid that I have fallen short in the Maker's sight. It does me no good to attempt to instruct you in the ways of righteousness at the point of a sword. So, instead, I am afraid the lesson you must learn is a harsher one. A physician who abandons her duty must watch those she cares for suffer for her absence."_

_"You cannot do this." Giselle rises to her feet, reading the Revered Mother's intentions before I can make sense of them. "Kathyra is badly hurt. I will not go with you. Let me suffer as you originally intended."_

_"Dear girl, you have no choice." I open my eyes in time to see Dorothea smile, an expression that convinces me that this was her plan from the outset. "Guards, this woman is under the protection of the Chantry. Arrangements have been made with the captain. Please, release her into my custody."_

_"Dorothea, no!" Giselle shouts, dropping to her knees beside me. "I will not do this! I **refuse!** "_

_"You should have foreseen this moment in all the other times you have 'refused' my orders." Dorothea hisses and I hear the harsh squeal of a key in a lock and rusted hinges grating open._

_"Go." I whisper, desperate to see her free from this place, even if she must go back to a den of vipers. "Please go."_

_"Kathyra, I will **not**." She speaks in a breathy hiss, so low I can barely hear her. _

_"Keep safe and I will join you soon. I promise."_

_**Better that you not see this side of me. Better that you keep to your illusions of what I was, what I can still be should need arise, instead of seeing them with your own eyes.**_

_"But you're...you are hurt." She protests. "You cannot ask this of me."_

_" **Sister Giselle**." Dorothea's iron tones. _

_"Be safe." I take advantage of the shadows and squeeze her hand. "I'm fine."_

_"Do not make my first kiss my last, Kathyra." Giselle begs. "Please."_

_"Go."_

_"What of the other woman, Revered Mother." The guard asks as Giselle steps out of the cell and into the clutches of a heartless bitch._

_"Her?" Dorothea pretends to scrutinize me. "I have never seen this woman before, ser. However, I am certain that many crimes have been committed. Do make certain that the punishment suits the crime."_

_"As you wish, Revered Mother."_

_I lie back against the cold stone, too weak to remain sitting upright any longer. I embrace patience and wait for the world to stop spinning. For when it does...there will be hell to pay._


	30. Breaking Free

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: This chapter contains mention of sexual assault, but no actual sexual assault.

**Kathyra**

_I lie on the dungeon floor, drifting in and out of conscious thought. The panging in my skull pounds in time with the beat of my heart, reminding me of the sword that struck me. In my moments of lucidity, I focus on the chink in the mortar of the brick, the only place through which I can see the light of day. I watch as it slowly dims, then fades away.  
_

_When the moon rises, I know it is time. I grit my teeth and force myself into a sitting position. The world tilts before my eyes, but it is not near as violent a sense as when I first came to in Giselle's arms. Still, the pain is present. I wait for the initial nausea and dizziness to subside, sinking into a place that I wanted to leave long forgotten. The place where fire was forced to dwell; the place where I could forget everything endured and drive myself beyond the limits of body and mind in order to succeed._

_**At one time,** I reach inside my boot, feeling the pouch concealed within it, filled with the slender metal shanks of lockpicks, **only my devotion to Marjolaine would drive me to this level of insanity. How is it that the flame I wished to quench burns all the hotter in this moment, for another whose meaning to me I have so carefully avoided considering?**_

_My uncoordinated fingers at last free the lockpicks and I stagger to my feet, stumbling toward the door. I press my head to the cool metal of the bars and breath in labored inhales. The chill of the iron calms the pain for a brief moment, and frees me to think. To plan. To execute._

_**It will not be long,** I force myself to recognize the fear my knowledge imparts. **The dungeons come alive when the sun sets...when no eyes an ears who might be persuaded to care will be watching, listening. When those who have found themselves here learn the true meaning of torment.**_

_I set my picks into the lock and begin my work with trembling fingers. Sweat breaks out on my forehead as I feel the tumblers of the lock catch and fall back into place, time and time again. I curse under my breath as sweat drips into m eyes and begins to burn. My hands refuse to cease their shaking as the floor warps and the bars twist in my concussed vision. I take a steadying breath, close my eyes, and attempt to pick the lock by feel, not sight._

_After a breathless moment, the tumblers catch and turn over. The rusty hinges grate and their protest echoes. I wince as the door swings wide, announcing its opening. Praying that no one heard, I stumble through the door and leverage myself against the wall for support, despising the gross slickness of the stone beneath my fingers, and all that it represents._

_**I am tired of prisons. I have been here too often, in my mind, in my heart, in my very soul. It is from the depths of my torment that I have created this hell, only to find myself thrust into a tangible dungeon. And the reason I struggle in the physical is the same reason I fight every other instinct I possess. To some day...some how...prove myself worthy of Giselle.**_

_Twin torches flicker in front of me, the flashing light almost unbearable to look upon, even though they illuminate the staircase that will lead me to freedom. I back against the wall as the sound of raucous laughter echoes down the stairwell, accompanied by the tromping of boots and the faint jangling of chainmail jerkins. I lean heavily on the wall, gathering my composure, battling my inner nature as my hand strays to the belt that no longer holds a weapon._

_"I am not a killer." I whisper to myself, listening as the voices draw nearer. "Maker, save me, I do not want to..."_

_"What have we here?" The guard's voice is rough and savage as he stares at me. The shock turns to a leering smile as he turns to his three companions. "Looks like **it** got out."_

_A middle-aged guard strokes the edges of his salt and pepper beard. "No chance of it getting loose." He bares his teeth and their sharpness reminds me of Leron. "Look at all that blood on its face. It probably can't even stand up straight. What say we have fun with it?"_

_**It**...the word rings harsh in my ears as I attempt to flee, but I stumble, and powerful arms force me to my knees. The guards gather around me, lewd gestures and words blurring to a nightmarescape. I cringe as a pair of hands hovering above me reach for and loosen their owner's belt. Memories crash over me of nights spent in the company of Leron's drunken contacts and friends...how he would laugh, then promise to take away my pain...forcing his way into my mind and through my defenses, stealing what was not his to take...pulling at the edges of a wound. _

_**No.** I lift my eyes and look up into the guard's sadistic, lascivious grin. **Not again. Not. Ever. Again. I have known kindness. I have seen strength. No one will force me to my knees against my will! **_

_Feeling strength and resolve course through me, I play the submissive. I reach up towards the guard's belt, schooling my features into a mask of meekness. He moves closer as his cheeks flush with whiskey and lust. His hands grope with the buttons of his trousers, and I strike._

_Faster than thought, I liberate his weapon from its sheath and ram the knife into his groin, slicing across the major artery in his leg. I rip the blade out and bright, red blood spurts from the wound, splashing across my face, pouring down my neck. His scream echoes through the hall as he falls, unable to stand, and, in mere moments, unable to breathe. No longer alive._

_The sound of swords drawn is a symphony  to me as I rise on legs no longer weak and strike out at another would-be violater. The blade slides through and across his throat with no resistance and barely a whisper of sound. He clutches the wound and staggers against the bars of my cell, his head making a sickening crunch as he falls to the ground._

_"Die, bitch!" I hear a scream and turn..._

_...fire erupts down my body as the tip of a sword catches at my side and cuts a deep furrow along my hipbone and into my thigh. I manage to stagger backwards from my opponent's blade, ducking under a strike from the guard at my back and launching myself at him. Another stranger's blood splashes across my face as I push my dagger through his chainmail and into his chest. A long-studied flick of my wrist twists the blade and, as I remove the knife, I hear it grate against bone._

_I turn like a feral creature. The last remaining guard approaches, his sword held out, stained with my blood. Murder glistens in his eyes as he raises his blade. I am on my knees. If I stand, I will die. He thinks I have no defense. He is wrong. I reach back and throw the dagger, embedding the point of the weapon between his eyes. The spark of murder in his eyes washes out as death takes him._

_My entire body **screams** as I get to my feet. I feel every minute movement as I pull myself up. The blood from my wounds plasters my clothing to my skin. I gasp out my pain, shivering, bleeding, the world still uneven in my vision. I limp to the body of my late tormentor and jerk the dagger from his skull, staring at my crimson stained hands. _

_**This...** bile rises in my throat and my gut clenches into a knot of agony... **this is not simply what I am...but it is my very identity. I can be nothing else.**_

_Sick, hurting, and disheartened, I make my way up the stairs, keeping to my home in the shadows, driving myself forward though I no longer know why. Dorothea had been correct when she told the guard that she knew me to be guilty of many crimes. She had been right...and Giselle is far safer in the Chantry than she is at my side...or with me at hers. I have only pushed Dorothea towards more drastic, crueler measures in her treatment of the half-elven physician._

_A guard sits at his desk, slumped over it in a drunken stupor. Even the sound of my labored breathing and the uneven scuffling of my gait does not rouse him from his slumber. I slip into the night as the shadows blend into the silhouettes of the men and women whose names have been carved into my soul by death's merciless hand. The ghosts and demons walk beside me as I flee from the dungeons, slowing as the loss of blood take hold and the ache between my temples flares with an anguish all-but unendurable._

_I stagger from building to building, falling into the muck and filth of the city streets more times than I care to number. For a moment, I lie there, trying to move, to drag myself out of the mud, knowing that the risk of infection increases with every moment, but it is difficult to breathe and to think and **move**. Around me, Val Royeaux does not sleep. People pass by and do not see me, even though their eyes rest directly on my form. To them, I am another casualty of this place, another battered, bloodied woman lying in the ditch, worth and worthy of nothing. _

_**Damn this city to hell!** My thoughts scream as I force my arms to move, force my mind to ignore the pain, and stand. **Can none see the truth of this city? In the day, it can pretend...but when night falls, the dirt and the shadows come to make their home, to retake what was always theirs...I am this city. I am the heart of Val Royeaux. Ugly. Reprehensible. Damned.**_

_And yet, beyond the dearth of my thoughts, above the din of my screaming heart...there is one memory screaming louder. Not one of tragedy, but of beauty. Not of lies, but of trust._

_**Do not make my first kiss my last, Kathyra. Please.**_

_This drives me forward, knowing that this will be my ultimate trial. Giselle will see irrefutable evidence before her eyes. Evidence that we do not belong together...and we are from separate worlds and that no matter my intentions, no matter my desires, I can never enter hers...that she deserves better than a broken, blood-stained bard._

_**This is the test...my worth will be judged...I can do nothing but pray that mercy exists, all the while knowing, for life has taught me...that it most assuredly does not.**_


	31. The Truth's Thousand Versions

**Kathyra**

_The door of the Chantry stands before me, ominous and looming. I stare down at myself, my ragged, muddied clothing covered in the blood of the four lives I have taken...and my own. I shiver from the pain and the cold, asking questions that, perhaps, have no answers._

_**What am I thinking?** I chastise myself, drowning out the sentimental part of me that desires to rush through the doors, up the well-worn steps and into Gisele's care and concern. **If Dorothea gets wind of the escape, and she most certainly will, then I will do nothing but endanger Giselle. I cannot be so selfish as to jeopardize her future.**_

_I turn from the door, thinking of my physician...the way her hair catches in the light, how her eyes are luminescent even in darkness. The strength in her words and the way she speaks above the din of the outside world. Her hands, small and delicate, yet able to mend tears in the skin, her lips, soft and supple...able to heal the broken heart._

_**I want that,**_ _my thoughts speak with more ferocity than ever they have. **I have nothing! And she has been given the same! Maker, surely...surely in your twisted grace, you can see fit that we not be alone...that your purest daughter and your defiled prodigal can manage to care a semblance of living from this city of death. **_

_I stumble forward, into the warm halo of light around the door. I slip inside, knowing that it will be dimly lit and all but deserted at this hour of night. I skirt the doors of the clinic as the soothing strains of Mirien's singing drift into the main hall. I trudge up the stairs, stepping light so that my blood does not spatter the floor. I ignore my throbbing head and the lines of fire radiating from my side and down my leg. I trace the hallway to the familiar door, praying that I will find the one I seek behind it._

_**And she will see me as I truly am...she will see me in all of my desolation and lack of worth. She will see the woman who kills.**_

_I knock at the door and wait for it to open. No sound catches my ear, no voice as light as air, gentle as summer rain, strong as forged steel. I could open the door, but I refuse. I knock again, unwilling to intrude, unwilling to **force** her to see this. I know it is foolish, but I will not face her without her permission.  _

_"What in hell!?" I hear a muffled explanation. "Mirien, I will flay you alive if you have come to ask one further insipid question!"_

_I smile and my eyes tear up at the heat in her words. I am afraid of anger, afraid of its effect, its resonance, the way in which it can warp the human spirit...but, somehow, Giselle's temper is warning, a fire that draws me towards it, unable to look anywhere else._

_The door swings open and Giselle stares at me, her expression changing from wrath to shock to horror to fear. I loathe myself as I see her viridian eyes lock wide as she takes me in. I gather my strength to turn away, so that she need not look at me, not see the blood-spattered mess of a murderer. But then, soft and slow, the fear in her eyes melts away to concern._

_"Kathyra, come inside before you're seen." Her voice is low, but insistent, and I limp into her room, closing the door behind me._

_"This is..." Honest words tear out of my throat and I begin shaking; it has nothing to do with the cold, "...this is who I am, Giselle. I can but pretend at anything else, but this...this is what I know. The blood is not mine."_

_Her brow creases. "Not all of it, you mean. Come and sit down." She orders, in the voice of the physician. "You look like seven shades of hell."_

_I stagger towards the chair she moves before the fire. I shake my head as she offers her support, and slump into the chair, letting spirals of black swirl before my eyes. Giselle disappears and re-emerges from the washroom carrying a bowl of water and several cloths draped over her forearm. She kneels in front of me and stares into my eyes._

_"Your injured state is the sole reason I have not struck you across the face, Kathyra." She hisses, taking my hand and beginning to clean the blood from it._

_"What?" I ask, stunned, pulling my hand away so that my sin will not stain her._

_"Why are you so blinded?" She asks, placing her hand on my knee, keeping her gaze fixed to mind. "Do you think I do not know who you are; that somehow I was raised blind and deaf to the world? My father was an Orlesian noble, Kathyra...he **employed** those of bardic talent. I witnessed them, covered in blood and smiling with triumph, taking their gold and silver from my father's hands."_

_"Then why..."_

_"Because of the absolute terror-stricken expression stamped on your face." Giselle takes my hand again, determined to erase the blood that has always been there, that will always remain. "This is what you are...Andraste's ass, Kathyra, are you truly so ridiculously dense? Would any **bard** do what you have done for me? They are selfish creatures, without conscience, without moral compass, and..."_

_Her words break my heart and I rise from the chair, pushing away her hand and starting for the door. "If you think that of my kind, then I have no place here." I hiss, determined to leave this place and return to my shadows._

_**There will be no words there for me...nothing lives in those shadows but blood and hatred, but it will be better than being in her presence, hearing her speak those words.**_

_"Kathyra!" Giselle calls, and it has always swayed me before, but not this time._

_It is her hand that stays me, wrapping around my side, her fingers catching the gash there and turning towards her by force. I hiss as her fingers gouge into the wound and the world goes white for a moment as my pain comes alive and slices into me._

_"Creators." Giselle gasps, eyes flickering from the fresh blood on her fingers to my bloodless countenance._

_The sight of my blood on her hand dizzies me and I lose my balance as the world spins. Giselle ducks under my shoulder and eases me to the floor in front of the fire. I lie down, watching the ceiling spin in front of me. Giselle dashes to the bed and returns with a pillow, lifting my head and sliding the pillow beneath it. I sigh as I sink onto the soft cushion. My head feels so heavy. I am cold._

_"Listen to me, you blithering **idiot**." She demands as she untangles the laces of my shirt. "I was **attempting** to relay the difference between those you so erroneously name 'your kind', and the woman I have come to know. I have been patient, Kathyra, and I know, I **do** , that it takes more than a span of months to undo the torture you were a slave to for **years**. But...but it is **enough** , especially in this situation. You are **hurt** and you should know, regardless of circumstance, that I will **always** heal you."_

_"What do you..." My words are cut short as she digs her fingers into the wound once more._

_"Am I worth anything to you, Kathyra?" She asks, and her anger is gone, replaced by her beautiful vulnerability._

_"Y...yes." I stutter, caught off guard by the sudden shift of conversation. "I killed, Giselle. I killed four guardsmen...this is their blood."_

_"And you did this, why?" She presses the inquiry._

_"I...I wanted to...to come back to you."_

_"Then this," She lifts my hand before my eyes, showing me the dried, encrusted blood sticking to my skin, "is rightfully mine."_

_She presses her lips to my clenched fist, then rests my hand at my side. Her deft fingers pull apart the torn material of my trousers, allowing her to examine the long, jagged wound from the guardsman's sword._

_"Giselle..."_

_"Seal your lips and let me work, Kathyra." She all but growls, stunning me into silence. "This wound is a filthy mess and I have **much** more to say to you, so allow me to finish this and we will discuss matters then."_

_"Very well." I close my eyes, daring the spinning oblivion of the world to draw me down beneath it, to sleep and escape the pain._

_A light tap of fingers against my cheek rouses me. "You still have a head injury." Giselle tells me. "No sleeping, no matter how delightful it would seem."_

_**This is...this is torture,** I think as she begins to clean the wound with a harsh astringent. **Why is there nowhere else I would rather be?**_


	32. The Prayer in a Kiss

**Kathyra**

_I rest on the floor, at last warmed by the fire, no longer shivering. I stare at the ceiling, becoming accustomed to the clenching and relaxing of my body as Giselle stitches the horrid gash left by a sword. I sink into a state of pleasant lassitude, the prick and pull of Giselle's needle but a distant sensation. A chasm of silence has grown between us. Giselle starts at every slight noise near the door, though at this hour of night it is unlikely that anyone will venture to her room.  
_

_I feel another sharp sting over my hipbone and the muscles twitch involuntarily. I lift my head from the pillow, ignoring the sparks of pain between my temples. I look at the woman who has become my savior, my guiding light. Giselle stares at the injury, her hands above it. I see something I have never before witnessed. Her hands are trembling...shaking even. Tears gleam in her intoxicating eyes and slip down her cheeks. Concern swells in my battered heart and I reach up, touching her forearm with my blood-stained hand._

_She looks down at me and I attempt to soften my gaze, to keep her from seeing any of my pain, physical or emotional. "What is it?" I ask, worried by the storms I see in her eyes._

_"The sword cut to the bone." She whispers. "You...it must have been so painful...you walked all this way..." She shakes her head and returns to her work, the slow stitching of the tear in my skin, the chasm spreading between me and her._

_**Can you mend this rift, Giselle?** I wonder as I watch her expert hands continue their work, slowing the flow of blood, knitting my skin together. **Can you convince yourself that this is what you want? I cannot promise the end of this. I cannot promise that I will not kill again...but I want to give you that. I want to give you that promise.**_

_"I'm sorry." I apologize, but the words feel flat as they leave my lips. "I never wanted..."_

_"I know, Kathyra." Her words are fierce, but they lack any hint of anger. "But it is my actions that put you in this place...I never considered...my actions have never affected someone else. And the fact that I made you revisit your hell, that I now sit here, stitching your skin together...I am simply trying to understand myself."_

_"What do you need to understand?" I ask, puzzled by her words._

_**She is so confident, so unwavering in her beliefs. Surely she knows all of herself that she needs to. Why then this question, why then this search for understanding.**_

_"I do not know who I am outside of myself." She answers. "All my life, I have been separate from the waking world, walking on the fringes of two separate lives, never needing acceptance because I knew it would not be given. I am a healer, and for so long, that is all that I was...now I realize, Kathyra...now I realize."_

_"What do you realize?" I find myself unable to do anything but ask her questions, for this side of Giselle I have never seen._

_There is new grief in her eyes for the first time. It is not the grief at the loss of a patient, or grief for the ignorance of the world. This is grief for herself, sorrow for her life and the way in which she has lived it._

_"That I am also a woman...a woman who was never a child...but who was never fully hu...realized." She tucks her hair behind her beautifully pointed ear and continues the movement of her needle. "I did not know what desire was, save in theory, save in the written word. And I was so **stupid** , thinking that I, who knows so **little** of the cruelty of the world, could do **anything** to help you."_

_I sit up at that, determined to wipe the desolation from her features, uncaring of my own pain. "Do you not understand what you have done to me?"_

_"Yes." She stares at the closed wound, the line of neat, careful stitching. "I have done this. I have torn open the wounds in your heart and I have caused your body to be broken. Why is it that the one person I desire most to aid is the one I continuously hurt? I have pushed too far too hard and..."_

_"Giselle, hush." I tell her, amazed to find that I might have the answers for her...answers that I never thought to possess. "This is the way of..." I stop, finding myself once again at the edge of a precipice. Beyond it lies my future, beyond it lies the most difficult of tasks...forgiving myself; leaving behind a life that I no longer desired...but bringing its skills and lessons into my new existence. "This is the way of those who love."_

_Giselle's eyes go wide and her hand drops the needle. It makes the barest sound against the stone floor, but it rings in both of our ears as a thunderclap, a volcanic eruption...the world realigning and changing on such a minute scale as to never be remembered. But this sound, in this moment, it is the bell ringing in our new eternity._

_"You are strong." I tell her. "You are fierce and lovely, and never have I witnessed you speak in anger in your own defense. Never have I seen you act in a manner that is selfish. You push because you desire, you desire because you have so much **love** within your heart, and the world is too damned **ignorant** to realize and accept it. Look at me."_

_She remains motionless, staring at the wound still, attempting to contrast the truths written in my body with the truths spoken from my lips._

_"Look at me, Giselle."_

_Slow, hesitant, her eyes turn to mine and I fall into the brightest shade of green ever molded by the hand of a god._

_"I would die a thousand times, kill a hundred men, walk the world forth and back, bleeding from every pore, if it meant returning to you. I...I can accept this," I extend my hand to her, letting her see the cracked and drying blood upon my skin. "I can...forgive myself, if you would only consider this hand worthy enough to take in your own. This is what you have given me...and if you say that you have sent me back to hell, I fell there willingly from the heaven that is your presence."_

_"You cannot...you cannot...the way of those who love?" Her true question voices itself. "Do...you..."_

_"I have no notion of **how** to love, Giselle." I whisper. _

_Giselle rinses her hands and begins to wash the blood away from the wound that spans from beneath my ribcage to the bend of my knee. "Neither have I." She admits. "And, in truth, if love is you bleeding on my floor...I am terrified."_

_"As I was terrified when first I met you." I breathe, catching the hand that lifts a warm cloth to my face, cleaning away yet more blood._

_"You cannot conquer the world in a day, Kathyra." Giselle sighs._

_"I do not need the world." I smile, loving how the firelight dances in her eyes. "I simply need you...if you will have me."_

_"I...I have never had anything that belonged to me, Kathyra." Giselle stares at me, shaken._

_"Until now." I am so certain of these words, so certain of this moment, that I am as a stranger to myself. "I am not mine, Giselle. You own me, mind, body, and soul."_

_"I do not wish...I do not wish to put you once more in that position. I will not own you." Giselle's eyes widen, frightened by the notion. "I will not **ever** visit upon you the horrors you have known, Kathyra, do not..."_

_"I trust you." i break every bardic code, written or verbal, with those three words. "I trust you to keep safe what little I have left to give, if only you will tell me that you want it."_

_More tears fall from Giselle's eyes. "That is your head injury speaking." Her eyes drift to the floor. "You will wake tomorrow and have no recollection of this moment. I cannot do such a thing to you."_

_"I am more clearheaded than I have ever been." I promise, desperate to know why she is avoiding the question, evading me as she has never done before._

_"How do you know..."_

_I think of her, her forwardness, her direct address...thus she has been in every situation but this. When confronted by love, she falters, for she is accustomed to the world tearing from her every dream._

_"Damn it, Giselle," I speak with her own ferocity, "I asked you once, not so long ago, to choose me for your apprentice. You agreed, because it was what you wanted, what you **needed**."_

_"I do not understand the correlation."_

_I reach out and place my hand on her shoulder, making it impossible for her to look anywhere else but into my eyes, to see the clarity there, the surety._

_"Love me, Giselle." I breathe, but it is not an order. It is a plea. "Love. Me."_

_Giselle says nothing, but she takes my hand from her shoulder and threads her fingers through my own, accepting the blood, accepting the scars, accepting the fears in both of our hearts._

_Laughter and tears mingle and coalesce into a new, beautiful emotion...one so indescribably it has no word given to define it. "Yes."_

_The vow is not sealed with a kiss, for both of us are wounded, one in body, one in heart. Instead, a quiet assurance surrounds us, knowing that wheresoever we venture...neither of us will be alone._


	33. Building a Future

**Kathyra**

     The gentle rocking of the ship felt and sounded like a pain-filled lullaby. the sort of song that must ring in the mind of a child driven beyond the point of comfort. a desolate beauty of once-remembered solace. A holy still settled on the room, the sole sounds that dared break the silence were the quiet rasps of Rylie's breathing. It felt like a moment for contemplation, the atmosphere even tasted of it, appeared like it, the dim light, the creaking of the vessel, even the scent of blood.

     "Leliana, might I ask something of you?" Kestrel questioned, her voice light and barely above the unobtrusive noise of the ship.

     "But of course."

     "Where...how did you find the strength to take down Cassandra?" The templar private inquired. "Her mere presence is enough to quiet the most boisterous of tongues. And yet...I cannot believe she is now chained in the hold."

     Soft laughter followed the words, the laughter of the delirious, the exhausted, those staring at the brink of sanity and realization.

     "I learned something, not so long ago." Leliana smiled. "That true leadership takes the form of servitude. That it is gentle and free from cowardice. That it does not boast, but stands silent among the tempests of the world and remains...that it stands, no matter how bloodied, and that it presses ever forward despite the darkness."

     "But Cassandra saved the Divine, and with her the entire city of Val Royeaux." Kestrel argued the definition. "She is, by all standing and account, a hero."

     "Heroic deeds do not a leader fashion." Leliana's tone was gentle. "Cassandra is formidable, true, and she is skilled. She is imposing and beautiful to gaze upon. In spite of this, she is brash, reckless, and she places too much confidence in her own heart, though that heart is more often given to disbelief than to faith. She doubts the intentions of everyone." Leliana's eyes fixed on me and they _burned_ , so full of light and life and hope. "Even one that she named to me as her friend...she would have left her to die in order to adhere to protocol."

     "People die in war and in battle, Leliana." Kestrel mused, attempting to puzzle through the former bard's perception of Cassandra Pentaghast. "Casualties are...they are expected, even acceptable."

     " _Never_ when they can be prevented." Leliana spoke, fire and steel.

     "How can you be so certain that they are going to survive?" Kestrel asked, the first layers of defeat entering her voice. "Kathyra's condition grows worse by the moment, and Rylie..." her voice cracked, "Rylie..."

     "I am certain because there is a god of love and kindness in this world. A god who is not asleep, who has not abandoned us. And such a god will _not_ let these two leave before their time."

     "I suppose, in the scheme of this world...if you speak of the Maker, then what you say can be nothing less than true." Kestrel allowed, but the hint of defeat still marred her tones.

     "Surety hard-earned." Leliana all but whispered. "And a prayer constantly employed."

     "I have heard it said, the few times I deigned to be within the walls of the Chantry, that the prayers of the righteous avail much." Kestrel murmured. "But we...we are not the righteous, are we, Leliana?"

     "There is no proper definition for that word." Leliana shook her head. "As a concept, perhaps...but not as a reality. If the prayers of the righteous are all that are heeded, then all our words fall on deafened ears. For none of us, _none_ of us, can achieve that definition."

     "That sounds...grim." Kestrel contemplated the words. "And yet it resonates with truth. Someday, Leliana, I want to learn, and achieve, the faith that you have in hope...as strange as that may sound."

     "I have no faith in hope." Leliana informed the woman. "Hope is tenuous, and malleable; it changes as we change, alters as we alter. I place my faith in love, Kestrel."

     "Yet you...you have known both of these women for so little time." Kestrel gestured to Rylie and myself. "How can you have faith that they will survive?"

     "I love them both." Leliana replied, and my world shook at its foundation.

     _You...you belong to another. How can you love those who have wronged you, those who are but strangers?_

     "And, as tales would have it, your love can bring back the dead." Kestrel laughed and Leliana joined in, both of them unaware that, in my heart, I was torn, broken, and losing my hope and faith.

     Love was a distant dream...often remembered, never regretted, and horribly, horribly missed.

* * *

_Giselle tends to the gash on my head with great care and concern, wincing as the removal of dried blood, mud, and the dirt of the streets reveals extensive, dark bruising.  
_

_"Maker's breath, Kathyra." She whispers, cleaning grit from the wound. "An inch to the left and that blow could have killed you."_

_"It didn't." I smile, but it turns to a wince as Giselle applies an astringent salve to the wound._

_"You stubborn fool." She attempts seriousness, but her lips quirk upwards at the corners. "Kathyra...have you given any thought to what we are going to do?"_

_"What do you mean?"_

_Giselle purses her lips. "The word of what happened in the dungeon will reach Dorothea's ear with the sunrise, if not sooner. She cannot find you here...and yet you are in no condition to walk any distance."_

_"Let me handle Dorothea, Giselle." I say, but it is a promise, a promise to care for her. I ask her to put her faith in me, to lay her trust in the hands that have taken lives._

_"Kathyra, I do not want...we have no way of surviving outside of the protection of the Chantry. I can hold my own against Dorothea; I have done so for years, but she is no in a position, the clinic is now in a position, to cast me out onto the streets yet again. I could not bear...I could not bear that fate for you. Not again."_

_My mind begins to work, in spite of my injured state. **I had a plan,** the remnants of memory gnaw at me, **for when I was freed from Leron...but it seemed so needless to pursue after Marjolaine betrayed me. Now, I have something I desire, something to pursue, something to build. Such a plan might be set in motion again.**_

_"I have to leave." I sit up, ignoring Giselle's hissed admonishments. I turn to her and take her hand in mine. "Giselle, please, I beg of you, trust me. I am all right, and I **will** return, and...and all of this can change. I have a plan. I swear to you, all will be well. Please, believe me."_

_"I'm worried for you, Kathyra." She states, and the simplicity of the words breaks me yet further._

_"Don't be." Hope strikes a spark in my heart and I lean forward, pressing my lips to hers in a brief, fiery kiss. "I promise you, all will be well."_

_"Just...take care." Her fingertips whisper over the gash in my forehead and her eyes fill with tears. "I'll be waiting for you."  
_

_Never... **never** have I felt such a rush of joy as those words inspire in me now. _


	34. The Vulnerability in a Promise

**Kathyra**

_**I know it is here somewhere!** Even my thoughts are weary as I steady myself on the walls of Val Royeaux, searching in the loose bricks for something left behind...what seemed so long ago. **Surely no one has discovered it. I hid it well, ensconcing my freedom in my prison. It is the sum of many years...so many years spent in torment. Maker give me grace...I spent those years in torment to purchase a life I was too blind to see I could not have.**_

_"I want a different life now." I whisper to the darkness, to whatever spirits might be lurking._

_Even in the black of night, the world continues to spin; every step taken sends fire shooting through my body. I have reached the limit of human endurance, but still I press on, guided by a memory of bright green eyes, my stars in the bleakest of pitch-dark skies, a compass to ever guide me home._

_At last, I feel it beneath my fingers, the faintest disturbance of the grit in the mortar, the loose brick I patiently carved out for months, shedding tears for innocence lost, for memories damaged, for life unlived. I scrape away the vestiges of the mortar, looking up and down the deserted street, feeling eyes in the shadows as ever I have, for I know what dwells there._

_The loosened brick falls into the street, shattering like the dreams I had clung to when loosening it: dreams of a life with my sister, repairing the damage done to both of us, learning to live outside the demented, twisted path of the bards. An honest life, spent in honest work, common laughter and tears, inane joys and sorrows, mundane pleasures and pains._

_**A normal life,** I think, reaching into the cavity in the wall and withdrawing the heavy leather pouch safely concealed within. **Something I do not think I shall ever possess, if Giselle and I remain beside each other. Even so, I am content. So long as my life is with her, it can reach whatever bizarre destination at which we end.**_

_I look to the sky, sighing as I realize that sunrise is too far from me, and that I am in no condition to push myself further. I shiver with cold, even though the night is warm, and stare at my blood-soaked clothes, cursing myself for being a madwoman._

_**Is this love?** I ask myself, inquiring of the mind that holds no answer. **This madness, this constant ache in my chest? Is love this odd surety that I feel in every action taken? How strange it is...and how comforting.**_

_I lean against the wall and begin the relatively short trek back to the Chantry. I mock myself as I press on, remembering the foolish young woman who had chosen to hide away a small fortune in the place where my naivete presumed the purest hearts would dwell._

_**This entire world is polluted,** my thoughts mutter as I stagger into the Chantry for the second time this night. **How is it that I found one radiant heart in this pit of filth and squalor? How is it that this city can hold one of purity and strength...and leave it undestroyed? How blessed am I,** I stand at Giselle's door once again, this time confident, assured, unafraid, **that this light is mine?**_

_I step inside her room, smiling as she rises from the chair before the fire and veritably runs toward me, searching my eyes, taking my hands within her own._

_"You're freezing." She whispers. "I cannot believe I let you depart...you are in no condition to...to do anything."_

_"I am fine." I assure her, admiring the shadows that dance across her face and leave nos cars, for they cannot touch her. She is all that is brilliance; all that is beautiful in my world._

_"You say that, trickster, but you're shaking like a leaf. Come and lie down." She wraps her arm about my waist and I wince at the slight pressure applied to the wound._

_"What of Dorothea?" I ask, more concerned for my physician than myself. "She cannot find my here, Giselle. It is not safe, at least not until further arrangements are made."_

_"I do not care." She shakes her head and her golden hair flickers in the firelight like molten gold. "The torment I endured, Kathyra...wondering...wondering if you would survive, if somehow my selfishness would damage you yet further. All the while, Dorothea sermonizing in my ear, preaching of good works, pontificating about duties and callings when she possesses not the slightest notion of what such a thing entails. She is a woman despoiled by gold, besotted by power, and with every nod and false word of repentance and affirmation I burned in my soul, dying slowly."_

_Tears line my eyes as Giselle's voice trembles with her memories. My heart aches as it remembers the nature of belief, of hearing another's words and knowing, without even the pretense of doubt, that they are true. I have not known that luxury since my parents were alive._

_Giselle guides me to her bed and I look at it, the white sheets, pure and undefiled as the one who dreams there. I look at my tattered, bloodstained state and cringe at the thought of resting in such a place._

_"I shouldn't...I am...I need..."_

_"To rest." She finishes the sentence and her voice is soft, kind, and forgiving._

_Gentle, she removes the pouch from my hand and sets it on the small table near the bed, not questioning its weight or its contents, not realizing the dream I have for the both of us._

_"Sit down, Kathyra." She whispers, guiding me to rest, to comfort and solace and peace, something I have only known in her presence._

_Giselle worries her lower lip with her teeth and reaches out, catching the laces of my shirt. "May I..." Her voice lowers, and she cannot finish the question._

_I lay my hand over hers and begin to loosen the laces. "Yes." I agree, knowing that she has seen me naked, wounded, and vulnerable, but that this time...it is different._

_Slow, with great care, Giselle finishes with the laces and lifts the shirt over my head, folding it and setting it aside. She steps nearer and the stringent, calming scent of herbs washes over me as the material of her clothing brushes across my cheek. She loosens the catch of my breast-band and the material falls away, leaving me shivering in the cold air and from Giselle's warmth, her nearness, and the light grazes of her fingertips lighting flames wherever they venture._

_She kneels before me and looks into my eyes before taking the rest of me in. Her hand reaches out and touches the twisted, puckered flesh on my right side, the gruesome scar from the wound she mended._

_"You are beautiful, Kathyra." The words leave her in a rush, and warmth floods to my cheeks._

_The words are not foreign to me, but never before have they been said...with no endgame, no ulterior motive but to give me the truth. She could say them to me one hundred thousand times and I know still that my heart would soar. She sees beyond my scars, those upon my body, those upon my soul, and those upon my psyche. She sees all that I am and...and she finds me beautiful. No one else ever has._

_I shiver and flinch as Giselle removes my trousers with painstaking care to avoid my injuries. In spite of my exhaustion, I have never felt this...this...overwhelming desire. My physician turns her beautiful eyes to the wound that trails from my side, down to my hip and leg, assessing it, caring for my body as she unwittingly, perhaps, heals my soul._

_"You're so pale." She murmurs, pressing a careful, blessedly warm hand to my forehead. "And cold. You've lost too much blood, Kathyra." She touches the stained bandaging and I curl my fingers into the sheets, my traitorous mind imagining those skilled hands moving upwards with languid, torturous intents and purposes. "You should not have stood for so long, or walked any distance."_

_"It was important." I halt the self-recrimination in her tone, though I am unable to keep my voice from shaking with exhaustion and pain._

_"I understand." She nods. "Lie down, Kathyra."_

_Gingerly, I lower myself onto the bed, resting my head on the pillow, and allowing Giselle to cover me with the warmth of the blankets. She vanishes from view and my eyelids begin to droop of their own volition. A moment later, I feel the warmth of another body alongside mine; feel the faintest brush of skin on skin. My heart begins to pound as the nightmares surge forward, memories of being used, of losing pieces of my mind and soul._

_"It is only me." Giselle comforts and, once again, her scent intoxicates me; her voice grounds me in the waking world that is quickly becoming the sweetest of dreams. "I want nothing but to rest with you and beside you, Kathyra. I need to hear your heart beating...you were nearly torn from me and I...I need this. I understand if it is too much to ask, but..."_

_I reach out, taking her hand and bringing it to rest just above my left breast so that she can feel the beating of my heart. It is the faintest of touches, the lightest of contact, but every nerve in me fires with life and vim and vigor._

_"I love you, Giselle." I speak the words I thought never to utter again, and I begin to weep as my heart realizes its freedom and, moreso, its safety._

_Behind me, I hear the soft sounds of weeping, my physician's sorrow, and I realize that the tears are a salve. Her tears are an antidote, soothing the wounds of loneliness in her heart and driving out the poison of senseless hatred that has bound her soul for so long. I bring the hand above my heart to my lips and kiss it, then return it to its place, hoping that she knows that I understand that her tears are not those of suffering, but those of release of fear, and also of joy._

_**There is no darkness now in this night. It is a night for dreaming. And, my love, tonight, all my dreams are yours.**_


	35. Fears Realized and Allayed

**Kathyra**

**"What do you say, Leron?" I cringe as I hear the deep baritone of one of Leron's less than savory contacts. "Are you ever going to capitalize on this...rather peculiar investment?"**

**"In good time." Leron smiles, and a gleam enters eyes the color of muddied water. "Time will witness the end of all plans laid in motion."**

**"The...how would you say... _fruit_ is ripe for the picking, Leron." The contact's eyes follow me as I pour wine for the both of them and retire once more from the room. **

**"You're an ungentle gardener." Leron hisses, and his fingers crackle with the spark of lightning.**

**"As if your 'children', as they were, require a delicate touch?" A drunken guffaw. "Were I you, Leron, I would..."**

**The words trail off into the whispers of debauched men, and I lean against the wall, my chest heaving as I think of my precious, beautiful little sister. The way her fingers dance over the strings of her instruments, how she becomes one with the steps of the dance, how her voice lifts the heart when it raises in song.**

**My heart begins to burn in my chest as, for the first time, I realize that not all might be well. I peer into the room to see Leron with a leering, maleficent grin on his face as his contact continues whispering.**

**Blood drains from my face as I read the man's lips. My ribs feel as though they will be broken by the furious pounding of my heart as I realize that this haven, this home...might soon become a hell.**

* * *

_"Kathyra," A light voice, close in worry, "Kathyra, darling, wake up."  
_

_My hands tangle in the bed sheets as they search for a weapon. My breath sounds harsh and heavy in my chest and the wound in my body burns with unholy fire. A foreign hand touches my cheek and I reach up, grasping the delicate wrist, knowing I can break it with a single twist of my arm._

_"Kathyra... **please**..." A pained gasp, "...you're...you're hurting me."_

_The fog inside my mind dissipates and I relinquish Giselle's wrist. She cradles her arm against her chest and looks at me with such sorrow in her gaze that I feel as though my heart has been speared through. I sit up, attempting to clear the memory from my mind, attempting to deny the pain I witnessed in my physician's gaze._

_"No, no, you're injured. Lie back down." Her voice is gentle, a gentleness that I do not feel I deserve._

_Her hand reaches out, tentative, the ghost of a touch along my spine. "You were having a nightmare." She explains. "It is all right; I understand. Please, Kathyra, lie back down."_

_"I...I hurt you." I mumble, staring at the arm she still holds close to her._

_"Stop being senseless." Giselle orders, not unkind. "It will not even bruise, but you will only aggravate your injuries if you refuse to rest. Lie. Down."_

_Reluctant, uncomfortable, I sink back down onto the mattress and begin to shiver as movement makes me aware of the still fresh wound. Pain fissures through me, physical, emotional, mental. I remain silent, attempting to sort through the waves of confusion pouring over me._

_"Should I leave you be?" Giselle asks, pulling farther away._

_I turn my eyes to her, stunned by the pulse of heat that runs through me at the sight. Her hair, wild and unkempt with sleep, draped down her neck, splayed in waves on her shoulders. The blanket barely covers her breasts and the smooth expanse of skin is tempting, tantalizing, and I am conflicted and bewildered and aroused and a...a mess._

_"I do not know." I press my hand to my forehead, finding the skin slick with sweat. "I could have broken your wrist, Giselle...and awakening like this...in this state...this is something that will happen again. You might not...you might not bring me out of it so quickly next time. You should want to run."_

_"And yet I find myself in the distinct position of wanting to remain here, beside you." Giselle counters. "I know you are afraid, trickster, but you are planning a future...one that I assume includes me."_

_"Yes." I assure her, turning onto my uninjured side and looking into her devastating, luminous eyes. "Yes, of course it does."_

_"And you fear this." She catches a strand of my hair between her fingers and runs them down it. "Intimacy. Physical and emotional. Of course, I must admit that I am completely ignorant of the physical aspect but...but I can listen, Kathyra. And you may trust that I will hold your confidences in sacred trust."_

_"It was less a nightmare, more a memory." I reach out and run my hand along her arm, savoring the smoothness of her skin, its lack of scars. "I dreamt of when my life changed...when I changed in Leron's vision."_

_"Fighting for a future and dragged back into the past." Giselle sums up my life in a simple sentence, but the emotion in her words dissuades me from believing her to be flippant. "So tell me of a new dream, Kathyra. Tell me of what you see in the future you desire to build."_

_"I see you." I whisper, feeling my throat constrict. "Nothing else matters, in truth. But I...I want to give and I do not know how. I want to be whole, but everywhere I look there are broken pieces of myself, and the edges are sharp and I am...I am afraid of hurting you."_

_"You truly do not understand what I feel, do you?" The query is followed by a light laugh. "Of course not. You are still struggling to see yourself as worthy of...of being spoken to with kindness."_

_The words are not harsh, but I feel them scour through my soul in an attempt to wash it clean. "I want...I want so much to be different. I want so much to be able to change, to turn the fears aside, to stop the dreaming, the nightmares, the madness that restrains me every time I attempt to struggle forward. I am terrified of harming you and...and terrified that you will leave, that this is all but a dream."_

_"I am not afraid of being hurt." Giselle tells me. "I am not afraid of you."_

_"But I might have..."_

_"I love you, Kathyra." Giselle breathes. "And you are afraid of yourself, placing that fear on others in order to turn it into a truth because the future is...it is a terrifying place. Come here, my darling."_

_She opens her arms and folds me into them, resting her head between my shoulder and neck, pressing her lips in light, tender kisses along my collarbone. Heat pools deep into my body, infusing me with warmth._

_"Are you afraid of this?" She asks, making no further move, simply holding me, cradling me against her heart, her body, spirit to spirit and soul to soul. "In this moment, are you afraid?"_

_"No." I answer, heartened to find that it is true._

_"Then if all you desire for your future is me, you are there now." I can feel her smile. "And fearless in the face of it."_


	36. Dreams Shattered by Reality

**Kathyra**

     _I awaken to dim warmth. Giselle sits on the edge of the bed, preparing for the morning. My breath catches in my chest and my mouth goes dry. I want to reach out, tangle my fingers in the tresses of her golden hair, gently pull her back to the bed, kiss her slowly and passionately, run my hands over the paradise of her smooth, pale skin._

_Instead, I content myself with watching as she tosses her hair over her shoulder and begins to dress. The requisite Chantry robes do nothing to enhance her appearance, but I have memorized every curve, every nuance of her body, and I know that she is beyond beauty, beyond desire._

_"Good morning." I greet her, my voice hoarse with exhaustion and slow-dawning awareness of pain._

_Giselle turns her eyes to mine and I smile, attempting to rise and wincing as the bruises remind me of last night's escape and struggle, so at odds with the lingering peace I feel now. The peace of being in her presence. The peace of knowing I was loved, for the first time since I watched my mother and father die, I was **loved**. _

_"Don't try to get up." Giselle advises, sitting beside me and taking my hand. "You need to rest, Kathyra. I cannot stress this enough, seeing as you persist in being the most **stubborn** patient I have ever encountered. Besides, you cannot risk being seen in the Chantry this morning...although I've no idea what will happen should Dorothea inquire of the city guard your status." She sighs and the sound cuts straight to my heart. "I am completely at a loss, Kathyra."_

_"I am not." I tell her, smiling. "And there are certain things I must attend to..."_

_"None that involve you getting out of that bed." She orders. "I cleaned your wound as best I could, but that dungeon was filthy, you fell in the mud I don't know how many times on your way here, and I **won't** have you gadding about while there is still a risk of infection. If you move you risk re-opening it, and I will not be able to slip away to repair the stitches."  
_

_"Do you wish to be free of this place or not?" I ask, frustrated with the consistency of my being incapable of doing anything to help her, whether it be physical wounds or emotional scars or mental ineptitude._

_"What...what do you mean?" Her brow furrows and confusion fills her eyes._

_"I am attempting to build a life for us, Giselle." I tell her, looking at the leather pouch, worn with age and filled with dreams and memories of blood. "I presumed it best to act soon."_

_Giselle runs her hand through her hair and looks me in the eye. "Kathyra, there is something you need to understand."_

_My heart sinks at the tone of her voice. I have heard her speak this way before. It is the delivering of bad news, the regret of one who could not save a life. It is the death knell, and I go cold._

_"What is it?"_

_"There is no life for us outside of these walls." Giselle speaks, and tears line her eyes. "I am...I am Dorothea's prisoner. She made that very clear to me last night...there is proof, Kathyra. Proof in writing. I would not have believed it unless she showed it to me..." Giselle gathers her composure and wipes and the moisture from her eyes. "When my father died, my half-brother decided to wash his hands of me. The bastard contracted my services to Dorothea and this Chantry as if...as if I am some sort of slave."_

_**No way out.** I realize, seeing the grief and terror in her face. **Trapped here...trapped in this unforgiving world that will use her and abuse her and break her healing hands.**_

_"Nothing is set in stone, Giselle." I attempt to console her, to dry those tears from her eyes. "There must be something we can do, something **I** can do."_

_"You don't understand." She stresses the words, and a manic edge enters her voice. "This will forever be a dream unrealized, Kathyra. I...I did not mean to lie to you, for I truly did believe my life was my own. Dorothea, however, has decided to deny me even the blissful illusion of free will. I am a pet, a captive, not even a whole person. And, no, the chains that bind me do not come laced with abuse and bloodshed and unmitigated horror, but they are chains all the same."_

_"And you are simply going to submit and deny yourself a chance for a life?" I ask, bewildered._

_Though she appears angry, frustrated, it appears as though Giselle has accepted this fate; that the strong-willed, brilliant, defiant woman I have come to love has...has...relinquished all hope of victory._

_"How can I deny what does not exist!?" She asks, despondent. "My life is unraveling at the seams, and I have...I have **lied** to you, Kathyra. How can you forgive me when I sit here before you and say that the future I whispered to you of **just** last night cannot exist? I do not expect your forgiveness. I cannot even forgive myself."_

_"Giselle, please..." My heart breaks as she shakes her head._

_"You deserve better." She states, as abrupt and forthright as she has ever been. "What is between us, fledgling though it may have been...I indulged the dream yesternight, but in the cold light of dawn," She inhales, deep, preparing to deliver her final blow, "it cannot be."_

_"Do not say that." I breathe. "Please, Giselle, you have given me every hope for the future. Why can you not let me attempt to do the same for you?"_

_"Because ink is_ _**blood,** , Kathyra!" She hisses. "And you have known your share of torment and nightmares and I **will not **allow you to throw yourself backwards into hell because of some transient emotion."_

 _"You would cheapen what we have? What we are? You would call it_ _**transient!?** " My voice rises, not in anger, but in fear. _

_"I **have** to." Her voice cracks, and my soul with it. "I have to or I will not be able to continue, Kathyra. Please...Creators and Maker damn me into the abyss! I **love** you, trickster. I do. It kills me to hurt you, but I cannot live and love in secret. Such a thing would destroy me." Her hand reaches out and cradles my cheek. "I want to sing of you daily, shout from the rooftops that someone of such a deep heart and insightful mind has found me worthy. But I am a slave, and less than a person, and bound by forces stronger than my own."_

_"You gave me my freedom, Giselle." I whisper. "Why..."_

_"You killed for me last night." Giselle interrupts. "I won't let you do it again. You deserve better."_

_"I only want you." I tell her, cringing as her last three words tear a chasm in my spirit. "Giselle, I only want..."_

_"If I were mine, Kathyra, I would be yours." She assures me. "So thank you for the dream, my darling girl. You've no idea...you've no idea the gift you have given me. But you must recover, and be on your way, and forget that I am here, and forget that once we dreamed of love."_

_"I will not do that." I refuse. "I cannot do that. I would betray my very soul. This dream is **not** dead, Giselle." _

_"It is." My physician orders, stern. "Time to wake up now, trickster."_

_Giselle leaves me alone in the room, intent on living her life in servitude...in slavery. But I know that life, have lived that life, and I will not see her beautiful, gentle spirit broken by the burden of the world. I climb out of the bed and limp to Giselle's bureau, finding something suitable to wear._

_"As the Maker is my witness, Giselle," I swear, lifting the pouch that holds my future and my dreams. "I will see your chains broken."_

_**I will not let the woman who freed me find herself enslaved. No power on earth can stand against me.**_


	37. To Build a Life Anew

**Kathyra**

_I limp down the stairs of the Chantry, thankful that the early morning finds it somewhat deserted. I would like to think that Dorothea has kept news of the arrest and subsequent incarceration from reaching the ears of all who dwell here, but experience has taught me otherwise. There are no secrets, no knowledge bound strictly to one person.  
_

_I slip behind a pillar as I catch the severe posture of Mother Dorothea striding into the foyer, Giselle in her wake._

_"You are late, Sister Giselle." Dorothea's voice is sharp with reprimand, and I feel the sudden desire to spring from the shadows, grasp Dorothea's wicked tongue, and cut it out, watching her bleed from the mouth until she dies. "Shall I presume you to be willfully ignorant of our discussion yesternight?"  
_

_"Forgive me, Revered Mother." Giselle apologizes and her head hangs low; the combative glitter is gone from her eyes. "Last night's slumber was restless."_

_Dorothea's brows rise and a canny smile creases her weathered face. "I understand that, Sister Giselle." She attempts to sound consoling and it twists my gut. "I trust you were thinking of my arrangement with the captain of the guard, and the travail your 'apprentice' will endure if you should not show the proper respect to me and repent for your actions against this holy place. I will remind you that Kathyra's release is solely dependent on your service to our Maker."_

_"I understand, Mother Dorothea." Giselle whispers, and all of my questions vanish._

_My hands curl into fists until my nails bite into my palms, so deep they nearly draw blood._

_**Dorothea has power that outstrips any city magistrate. She answers only to the Divine, and the Divine is above the law. Even though I have escaped, Giselle is...afraid for my safety and well-being. She would be a slave for my freedom...that is the measure of her love. I will never doubt you again, Giselle.** I smile, running my fingers along the leather pouch attached to my belt. **And you need not harbor any manner of fear much longer, my physician. There are others who, too, are above the law.**_

_I sneak out of the Chantry, striding down the stairs and into the waking streets of Val Royeaux. I lean against another building, gathering my breath and attempting to ease the splitting ache in my side and leg as movement pulls the stitches and aggravates the deep bruising around the vicious laceration._

_I venture deeper into the streets, away from the shadows that once bound me. I am a free woman, unafraid, for those who would have been my captors lie dead, and there is no evidence to implicate me. It was a favor owed to Dorothea by the captain of the guard. Anything official and he would have been forced to answer to his superiors, who would frown on an alliance between the guard and the Chantry._

_I find the building I have been searching for. I stare at the inscription hanging above the door. A financial institution filled with purveyors of gold, its lenders and protectors...those who stole my childhood home by letter of the law after my parents were murdered._

_I enter the bank, seeking the office of a man who was once my father's friend. At that time, he'd been a simple records keeper, but he had risen in rank and stature over the years, becoming a lord of land and gold, keeping safe the fortunes of men and women. I am halted by a severe looking woman with her hair so tightly bound I am given to believe that her face suffers._

_"I need to speak with Messere Jordaine." I tell her, and her eyes take in my ragged state, my tousled hair, bruised face, split lip. I keep her eyes focused on my face, lest she see the blood starting to stain my side and trousers as it seeps through the stitched skin._

_"Messere Jordaine is seeing no one at the moment. Return another time." Her voice is crisp, clear, but I can hear the underlying disdain beneath the veneer of professionalism._

_"It is an important matter...concerning family." I inform her, loathe to reveal too much. "Please inform him that Kathyra wishes to speak with him."_

_She sighs and strides away from me, through the office door. After a moment, she returns, a single strand of hair loose and a miserable flush in her cheeks. "You may enter." She says, curt._

_I nod my thanks, stepping into the office, attempting a smile. Guilt washes over Jordaine's face, as it always does when he lays eyes on me. I know he has his regrets, but also that his hands were tied, and by the time his fortunes changed, Marjolaine and I had been stolen by the shadows._

_"It has been quite some time, Kathyra." His voice is gravelly and worn with responsibility. "You've not been seen here for nigh on seven months. What brings you back through this door?"_

_"Hope, Messere." I whisper as my palms begin to sweat. Inches from victory, I feel as though it shall be torn from my grasp, and all my dreams scattered onto the ground, irretrievable. "Hope that you have kept our accord."_

_Jordaine rises and I see the stoop in his shoulders. Age and time have wearied him.  
_

_"You look unwell, child." He says, unlocking the door to the room behind him._

_Jordaine walks between shelves filled with scrolls and parchment, boxes of precious things that the wealthy pay to keep hidden and secure. He finds a single scroll and blows years of dust from its surface. The dust cloud makes him cough as he returns to me._

_"Is all well, Kathyra?"_

_I remember our first confrontation, when I had come to him, years after my parent's murder, already being twisted into Leron's image. Without tears, without remorse, I had berated him for the abandonment of his friend's children in their time of need; upbraided him for pursuing his prosperity while leaving others to fall to ruin. Though we had made our accord at the edge of a blade, time had allowed us to, gradually, mend the rift between us to the point where inquiries, such as the one he posed to me now, were allowable._

_"No." I give him the truth. "But it will be, as soon as this is settled."_

_"Are you certain this is still your desire?" He holds the scroll out." I can refund your coin, if that is what you wish. I owe you that much, Kathyra."_

_"I want this matter ended, Jordaine." I inform him, lifting the pouch from my belt and placing it on his desk. "I came to you many years ago, to earn back what was lost. You were...you were kind enough to hold it in trust for me, and now I will absolve you from your guilt of breaking the law."_

_"There were many inquiries, Kathyra." Jordaine upends the pouch onto his desk, stunned by the gold that glitters before him. "Maker's breath, my girl...you've this much coin to your name and you tell me that circumstances **could** be better?" He slumps in his chair, looking exhausted. _

_"I trust this covers the matter of our debt, Messere Jordaine." I watch as he counts out the remainder of my debt with weathered fingers. The rest he returns to the pouch, and I scowl at him. "Take the appropriate amount, Jordaine. I will not accept charity. Not from you. Not now."_

_He gestures to the gold before him. "This **is** the appropriate amount, Kathyra. In full. I've suffered enough keeping this deed in trust for you. It is a mediocre estate, but it lies in a high-traffic, lucrative area of the city. I've fought wars with merchants and nobles alike for that home."_

_"I understand that, Messere." I tell him, unrolling the deed to my childhood home and adding my signature alongside his, where I had forced him at dagger point to sign, so many years ago. "But it was my inheritance and it was stolen...as was so much more. I have done my share and I regret...I regret my actions during our first meeting. Please accept my apologies, Messere Jordaine, for any unfair grief or trial that I have caused you."_

_Jordaine lifts his eyes to mine and scrutinizes me, the ire fading from his gaze. "You are a different woman than first I met." He surmises. "There is...there is something changed in your eyes, Kathyra."_

_"I have found a new life." The barest of smiles lifts my lips as Jordaine applies his official seal to the deed of land, and the house that stood upon it. "And a plan for the future. You will not see me again, Jordaine. I only hope...I only hope that this can assuage your guilt."_

_"And your sister?" He asks, brows rising and a soft affection crossing his features. "Does little Marjolaine fare as well as you?"_

_My lips begin to tremble and I extend my hand, taking the deed from him. "Better." I inform him. "She is...she is wealthy in her own right."_

_"Then rejoice in your good fortune and be on your way." Jordaine dismisses me, a curt note in his voice, as if he is glad to have me out of his life._

_"As you wish, Messere."_

_I rise and walk to the door, my limp more pronounced as my injuries protest the movement. I feel blood soak into my trousers and shirt, but I grit my teeth and continue moving, eager to be free of this place that has held part of my freedom, part of my dreams, prisoner._

_"Kathyra." Jordaine calls._

_I turn to face him. "Yes, Messere?"_

_"You are frightfully pale, and you look quite ill, on the verge of collapse. Have someone see to you...for the sake of an old man who once...well...take care, Kathyra."_

_"I will, Jordaine." I smile at him and exit his offices, the deed to my home burning against my skin with the warmth of hope._

_**Part the first is complete. Now, I must wait for nightfall...and put that rancorous bitch Dorothea in her proper place.**_


	38. Exhaustion No Defense

**Kathyra**

     "Kathyra?" Leliana's voice whispered against my ears, hoarse with smoke inhalation and too little sleep. "Kathyra, can you hear me? Can you open your eyes?"

     Stiff, exhausted, I waged the war to open my eyelids. The oil lamp illuminated the former bard's features, casting even darker shadows underneath her eyes.

     "Leliana." My heart lurched uncomfortably as I whispered her name. The conversations I had overheard during my drifting in and out of consciousness had only worked to make me feel what I had no desire to.

     _She is so beautiful,_ my thoughts betrayed me. _Her spirit, her wishes for this world...to save, to heal, to preserve all that is right within the hearts of men. Even Cassandra could not break her. I doubt that anything could._

     "You're shaking." Leliana moved the blanket aside and examined the piece of wood protruding from my side. "And you've been murmuring in your sleep for the last candlemark. I'm worried for you. Is there anything...anything I can do?"

     "You've...done enough." I attempted to breathe deeply; failed as pain radiated through my body. "Please...you need...to rest."

     Leliana smiled and her eyes veritably shone with light. "It is no crime for a physician to accept help, Kathyra."

     "I know that." I attempted to smile. "But...I am done...with pretense. We both know...I won't...survive."

     _I want to go home...whatever eternity promises. I want to return to that._

     "Kathyra..." I heard that tone again, that boundless, devastating hope, and I could not bear it.

     "I'm tired, Leliana." The words meant so much more, and I knew that she, of all people, would understand their full intent.

     "Rest, then." She whispered, and I felt the softness of her lips press against my fevered brow, so soothing and kind and reminiscent of everything I had fought for. "All will be better in the morning, Kathyra." She made a mother's promise to a child trapped in nightmares. "Go back to sleep."

* * *

_I spend the rest of the day in the market, using the last of the coin to furnish my new home, to complete the dream I began building years ago. The sun is bright and I am too hot. I attribute the temperature to the light cloak I am wearing to hide the blood stains on my clothes. Sweat runs down my face and I feel dizzy. The wound from the guardsman's sword is burning like fury, a very bad sign, but hope forces me past the recognition of pain.  
_

_**I cannot let Giselle remain in that prison, especially knowing that she is staying there for my sake. If this is love, I will be forgiven my forwardness. If this is love, then I am willing to and must risk everything for it. **_

_The sun begins to set and I make my way towards the Chantry, wiping sweat from my brow, wincing as my hand brushes and rubs salt into the gash left on my forehead from the guardsman's sword. So much had changed in a single day, but never had I felt so strong, so invigorated, so determined in my goal._

_I slip inside the Chantry doors just as the day turns to dark, listening to the familiar song raised by the sisters, the nightly prayer to the Maker. Certain that Dorothea is with them, I grasp the hilt of my dagger and linger in the doorway to the clinic, hoping to catch a glimpse of Giselle._

_She appears, and I watch my physician as she moves from bed to bed, patient to patient. Even though I cannot see them, I know the kindness shining from her eyes; I know the comfort that her voice imparts. Yet, in her face there is a strain, a pallor...her calling has been distorted, and she drives herself forward only because she believes she must._

_**What little of the world I have to give, Giselle...it is yours. These words, this confidence of mine...all of it belongs to you, for you are the one who has given it to me. Forgive me for what I must do...please find it in your radiant heart to accept this measure of love.**_

_I steal up the stairs, light on my feet, in spite of my injuries. The pain is as nothing as vigor courses through my body, as I meld the bard and the physician, the light heart with the dark talent, the pure purpose with the deadly skill. Careful, unseen, I make my way to Dorothea's rooms, picking the lock and slipping inside, locking the door behind me._

_The opulence in the room disturbs me and disgusts me, from the plush carpeting on the stone floor to the pure gold of the candlesticks and bright silver of the wall sconces. The finest down comforter rests on the bed and I run my hands across the sheets, my frown deepening as I recognize the smoothest of silks._

_**What sort of woman is Dorothea?** I wonder, clenching the hilt of my knife in an attempt to curb my anger and keep from setting fire to this place. **No woman who truly follows Andraste's teachings could allow such luxury in her life. They are required to take a vow of poverty...this is...this is obscene!**_

_I conceal myself behind the heavy damask curtains, cringing. Adding further insult to her title, Dorothea's curtains are embroidered with scenes from Andraste's life in the finest silken thread. The calling of the prophet by her Maker, the leading of the Exalted March, and calm acceptance on the Bride's face as she faced the pyre. Bile rises in my throat and I close my eyes so that I need not look on this travesty of faith._

_**Even I, a sinner, know that the Maker's Bride would not wish to be honored in this way. She was a woman of battle, a woman of light...a woman who despised the corruption of wealth and the domination of the weak by those who professed themselves kind, but made themselves into more powerful tyrants. Andraste fought for all freedoms...those of humans, elves...all mortals who walk this earth.**_

_I linger with my thoughts, smiling as I hear the key turn in the lock, as the heavy oaken door swings open. Dorothea enters the room and I watch her as she removes her Chantry robes, watching as the firelight glints off of the rich colors and fabrics._

_The revered mother dresses for the evening, for quiet meditation and peace and rest, uncaring that she has enslaved the most beautiful of hearts with promises of violence. Uncaring that she would let me be raped and tortured for the sake of a foolish contract and to keep her pets in line._

_Dorothea stands before her roaring fire and pours what smells like fine brandy from a crystalline snifter into a goblet of the same material. A contented sigh leaves her lips as she watches the flames and indulges herself. I curl my hand around my blade, smiling._

_**Wait until the enemy is most vulnerable, Kathyra,** Leron's voice rings in my mind, sickening and somehow soothing. **Wait until they are deeply engrossed in their creature comforts, sated in their lusts, distracted by their vices. Then, and only then, should you strike.**_


	39. Fury of the Unrighteous

**Kathyra**

_I remain behind the curtain as Dorothea sinks deeper into her brandy and silent meditations. My hand shakes as I pull my dagger free. All I can see is scarlet staining my hands, the frightened look in Giselle's vibrant eyes...the words she had said to me not so very long ago.  
_

_**You killed for me last night. I won't let you do it again. You deserve better.**_

_I stare at Dorothea, thinking of how easy it would be to, soundless and swift, draw this razor edge against her throat and end the suffering of so many. but I know the stakes. A worse tyrant would be put in her place, suspicion would fall on those with a grudge...and the confrontations between Giselle and Dorothea are not at all kept secret._

_I sheathe my blade and gather my composure, stepping from behind the curtain. **I must win this differently. For Giselle's sake. For my own soul.** I move directly behind her chair, blade in hand, prepared to do what must be done. _

_"We need to talk, Dorothea." I break the silence, enjoying her gasp, the sound of shattering crystal against the stone floor._

_Dorothea begins to rise but I grasp her shoulder in a bruising grip and fling her back into the chair, pressing the blade to her throat with a now-steady hand. It is the illusion that will win this fight. I cannot let her see that I am weak...that I can barely keep my hand from shaking because my own pain is so great._

_"Call for the templars and it will be the last sound you make." I growl, leaning in close, knowing that she is defenseless. "I ask only for a civil conversation."_

_"You brigand." Dorothea hisses, remaining still as my blade gouges deeper into her weathered skin. "You are but a physician's apprentice. How did you..."_

_I laugh in low tones, letting the sound echo, menacing and cold. "I am not what you perceive me to be, Dorothea. And you would be remiss in believing that you alone rise above the law. Consider this a juxtaposition. Heaven meeting hell, as it were."_

_"I knew that evil lurked within these walls." Dorothea's voice darkens. "I **knew** that a viper had come in amidst the doves."_

_"Oh, yes." I whisper, walking in front of her, keeping my blade in place against her throat. "But it is not I who have brought the darkness here to dwell. I came here seeking redemption, rest, and peace. I came seeking healing, praying to a merciful god that I be allowed to turn from my wicked, **wicked** ways."_

_"There are those who are beyond redemption." Dorothea asserts, somehow managing to turn her nose up at me in spite of the bright bead of blood on her skin._

_"Yes." I agree with her, keeping my blade hand steady as my other one trembles uncontrollably. "But I am not one of those. I found what light was left to me, and it is the reason that **you** still draw breath. I am here for one purpose, and one alone, Dorothea. I have but one demand to make of you."_

_"Demand?" Her voice turns to ice. "You would make a demand?"_

_"Yes." I nod and twist the blade the slightest bit. Dorothea winces and pulls away. "Give Giselle her freedom."_

_Dorothea laughs, long and loud and grating. "This," she gasps for breath, "this is why you come to me in the dark of night, bruised and battered and threatening murder? You would kill for that half-breed bastard who holds herself above her station?"_

_I grip the chair's arm with my free hand and press my knee against Dorothea's ribs, slowly applying pressure. "I would kill to see the purest woman in Thedas free from the chains placed upon her by the **viper** who plays pretense amidst doves. Your live, with all of its perceived power and station, is so **insignificant** as to be **inconsequential** in comparison with hers."_

_"And who are **you** to make this decision?" Dorothea clings to her pride, in spite of the slow suffocation and imminent threat of death. "Who are you to discern who should live or die?"_

_"I am a murderer, a thief, a whore, and a liar." I splay before her the litany of my crimes. "I am a **sinner** in the Maker's sight. I know evil, Dorothea. I have let it blacken my heart and invade my mind. I have let it paw at my flesh and soak into my soul. and therefore I know what true good is...for it is everything that I. Am. Not. But you, you conniving, insidious, dark-hearted, miserable_ **_bitch,_** _you are the furthest thing from good."_

_"You will seal your lips..."_

_"Order me again!" I drive my knee into her ribs, eliciting a sharp gasp of pain as ribs crack. "Find the strength within yourself to say you have not lied! Find the strength to say that you look upon **all** men with but a measure of the compassion Giselle holds within her heart! Do it, Dorothea," I lean in close, whispering in her ear, "do it with full honesty and I will concede defeat. Tell me. Tell me now. Tell me how you are not a hypocrite. Tell me that you do not preach poverty and live in luxury, that you do not preach chastity and live in indulgence, that you do not preach charity and dwell in greed. Tell. Me."_

_Dorothea's mouth opens, her lips work forth and back, but no sound emerges. She can conjure no defense for herself, for we are standing amidst proof of my words._

_"You cannot hide darkness from darkness, Dorothea." I taunt her. "But this is the **delightful** portion of our agreement. I will not whisper a **word** if you will but give me what I desire. Grant Giselle her freedom."_

_"To what end?" Fear enters Dorothea's eyes, and it is as a song to me. "She has **nothing.** She is forbidden to have **anything.** She is **less** than a person and should be **grateful** that her noble brother made such arrangements for her."_

_I strike the revered mother across the face with an open palm. "Why?" I ask the question that has tormented me for months. "Why do you hate her so and yet cling to her? What pleasure do you derive from being an owner of slaves!?"_

_"The creature has its uses." Dorothea smiles and I realize her game._

_To cause me to lose my temper. To slip. To draw blood. To make myself a criminal whose crime cannot be forgotten._

_"Do as I ask, Dorothea," I demand, allowing no argument. "Give me her contract and keep that which is most precious to you. Your life, your power, and your reputation."_

_"How do you know what I hold precious?" She asks, but her voice trembles. "You cannot know."_

_"Damn you to hell, Dorothea." I strike her again in the chest, with my knee, doubling her over as she struggles to breathe._

_I rush to her ornate bed and cut the heavy, rich cord that hangs from its canopy, returning and tying Dorothea's hands to the arms of the chair, and her ankles to the legs of it._

_"What are you doing, Kathyra?" With the absence of the knife at her throat, Dorothea grows bold and opens her mouth to call for the templars. I lift her discarded robes from the flood and stuff them into her mouth, sealing her cries from any who might hear._

_"If you will not give me what I desire, with a reasonable accord between us, a mutual understanding," I inform her, glaring into her eyes with all of the hatred I can muster, "then I **will** take it by force. You've no right to condemn a heart that you cannot understand. You have no right to hold back a light that could blind Andraste herself. I am nothing, Dorothea. **I** am less than a person. Learn that definition, Dorothea. Look into your rotting, bloated heart and discover what it truly is to live in humility, peace, and caring. Transcend yourself for one moment of epiphany and work out your own salvation...but do not deny another theirs. Do not strip from a repentant sinner the only hope they've ever known."_

_I get to my feet and begin to search her room, finding an ornate silver box atop Dorothea's desk. I pick the lock and flip the box open, rifling through the contents, at last finding the contract that binds Giselle's services to the Chantry and puts her life in Dorothea's hands. I find it, noting the broken seal. I open it and read the words. They make me sick. One life should never be given to another to serve. Reading these words, I resolve to destroy the life of any slaver I might ever meet. Just as I will destroy the protective facade Dorothea has fashioned for herself._

_"This." I hold the contract in front of Dorothea's face. "Is a sin. a crime in the eyes of the Maker. You cannot **own** a person. You cannot **deny** someone the life that they desire because of blood they did not ask for. You cannot punish the innocent for another's evils!"_

_Dorothea stares at me, mute. I walk to the fire and set the contract alight, holding the flaming parchment and walking to the bed, setting the covers and canopies aflame. I touch the paper to the ornate curtains, smiling as they begin to burn. Dorothea begins to call out from behind the gag, scrabbling at the floor with her bound feet as the room becomes alive with devouring oranges, yellows, and reds._

_The heat rises in the room and I pull her chair to the center of it. I toss the remainder of the contract at her feet, letting the parchment blacken and crumble in front of her eyes. I remove the gag and glare at her._

_"Remember this, Dorothea." I tell her. "Send guards, and they will die. Send templars, and they will end as bloodied smears on the streets, murdered by a phantom's blade. Speak of this and know suffering beyond what you thought possible. You cannot kill me, and you no longer have proof to chain Giselle and substantiate your claim of ownership. Please, search your own heart, find what Giselle showed me was possible. Find your own redemption...live your life in freedom."_

_"I need not lift my hand against you." Dorothea spits in my face. Her spittle is warm against the chill of my skin. I am cold, despite the flames. "The **Maker** will see me avenged."_

_"Poor, pathetic fool." I murmur. "Witness this cleansing by fire. This room is stone. You will not burn, Dorothea. You are not worthy of Andraste's death."_

_Sweat prickles on my skin as the heat grows. Smoke fills the room, ventilated by the window. I am certain Dorothea will not perish, and that she will not speak of this, in order to keep her pride. I leave her vainglories to burn and stride down the hall, intent on finding my physician and giving her what all who walk the earth, who live and love and light, deserve. The life they so desire._


	40. Bringing Her Home

**Kathyra**

_I hurry down to the clinic as fast as my body will allow. My injured leg is on fire, the sole point of heat in my body. Even though I am soaked with sweat, I am frigid. The sweat plasters my clothes to me, hemming in the scent of smoke. I cannot care about that now. I need to reach Giselle before chaos breaks free. I have to find her before my entire scheme falls apart and once more we find ourselves in Val Royeaux's dungeons, with true crimes to lay at my feet, but for which she will be punished.  
_

_I enter the clinic, my eyes frantic in their search. My physician emerges from the storeroom, arranging the tresses of her hair, the day's exhaustion evident on her face._

_"Giselle." I call her name and she turns her lifeless eyes to mine. They spark and flare into an expression so devastating I nearly come undone._

_"Kathyra, what are you doing here?" She hisses, striding to me in long, worried steps. "Have you been seen? And, damn you, where did you disappear to...you shouldn't be...you look terrible..."_

_"I need you to get your things, Giselle." I take her by the shoulders and lock her eyes with mind. "It is very important. Very. Please. Do this. Trust me."_

_My heart cracks as her gaze finds my hands, and I know she is looking for blood, for evidence of violence. "I cannot." She insists. "I have told you already..."_

_"I made arrangements. Your contract is gone. Please, Giselle. Please." The pleading in my tone catches her ears and the strong, determined woman I have come to love re-emerges._

_"Wait here." She instructs me. "I'll gather my things."_

_"Everything you can carry." I prepare her. "Clothing, books, supplies...all that is dear to you."_

_"Then we should go." She touches my hand, the lightest brush of skin that catches me aflame. "You are dearer to me than anything else in this world."_

_"I know." I remember why she had been so brusque with me, turning me away to preserve my future. "You have proven that. Allow me to do the same. Now, hurry. Time is of the essence."_

_"Promise me you're all right, trickster, or I won't stir a step."_

_"I'm fine." I lied, insistent. "Go."_

_"Remain here." She orders, and I can do nothing else but obey her._

_My heart is beating too fast in my chest. I want to pace, but all I can do is slump against the wall in the shadows. I watch all who come and go, praying they will not see me. I expect the sounds of alarm at any moment as smoke seeps beneath Dorothea's door. I can only hope that the foolish wretch has heeded my warning, and that her brush with death will deter her from any further foolish action._

_Sweat trickles down my back and the bloodstain on my trousers spreads as mere moments drag on to time eternal. The gash on my forehead pounds in time with the throbbing in my skull and my beating heart. The wound on my side feels as though ti has been torn open anew as I wait and wait and wait...remembering the last time I waited, wounded in spirit and soul, hoping once again for a future._

_**A future whose scar I will forever wear in memory of its denial. Please, dear Maker, one shred of grace, one moment of forgiveness. I have no right to ask for even that little, but I beg you...I beg you...show me that redemption is no lie. **_

_"Kathyra," Giselle's voice rings before me and I turn to her, taking one of the heavy satchel's from her outstretched hand. I wince as I sling it across my shoulder and it comes to rest against the wound in my side._

_Mirien emerges from the storeroom as we make to depart, her brow crinkled in consternation. "Do either of you smell smoke?"_

_"No." I say, too quickly, and Giselle's eyes dart to mine, filled with apprehension. "Good evening, Mirien."_

_I place my hand on the small of Giselle's back and guide her from the Chantry, hating the hesitance I feel in her body, hoping that this dream, too, will not be torn from me. We move through the city streets, away from the Chantry, away from the flames and the cries, and the ragged fury of a woman too powerful for her own good. A woman who would own slaves in a world where men were meant to live free._

_"Kathyra, where are you taking me?" Giselle asks, blunt. "Your face is locked in determination and agony; I can feel the secrets weighing on your shoulders and I am...I am frightened. What have you done?"_

_"I put Dorothea in her place." I tell her. "And I burned the contract that bound you to the Chantry."_

_"By the Creators..." Giselle's hand flies to her open mouth, but she continues moving, following me. "Kathyra, she threatened me with your life! You have put yourself in **grave** danger! And here we are, **exactly** where I swore you would never be again! Adrift on the streets with nothing...I would have stayed, Kathyra. I would have stayed and kept you **safe**..."_

_"It would have killed you." I argue. "I saw your face, Giselle. The joy was gone. Dorothea had warped and twisted your calling...just as you feared she would."_

_"That notwithstanding...you are **frustrating!** What did you do? I doubt that Dorothea handed you the contract, allowed you to cast it into the flames, and then bade you farewell with an exultation to serve the fucking Maker!" Giselle's voice heats and her eyes scorch me with their intensity. "Tell me you did not kill again, Kathyra! Tell me you did not do that do yourself! Not for..." Her voice lowers, her words emerging on a sob of pain, "...not for me."_

_"I did not." I pray that she can hear the honesty in my words, the desperation to let both of our inquiries lie quiet for a night. "Trust me, Giselle. Please, trust me."_

_"I have never done anything less." She answers. "In spite of all counsel to the opposite. Did you know that even Mirien, the twitterpated fidget, advised me, this very day, to have nothing to do with you?"_

_"Dorothea's marionette with a rehearsed speech." I counter, though the news strikes me to my core. I have always liked Mirien, and thought she returned the friendship. To know I am wrong is...painful, in a way._

_"That may well be, but the fact of the matter is that...oh, what am I saying?" Giselle questions. "The words on the tip of my tongue were 'brash', 'reckless', and 'foolish'...but I embody all those same traits. How can I accuse you of what I possess myself?"_

_"Because your actions end in healing." I tell her the truth as I see it. "And mine end so often in death. But this time, Giselle, **this** time, with what you have taught me, with what I have learned...I believe I have finally found something worth risking everything for, something worth killing for, something worth **living** for."_

_"Kathyra, what have you done?" She asks as we come to a stop on the street I have led her to, in the merchant's quarter of Val Royeaux._

_I stare at the home I remember from my dreams and nightmares, a modest estate, such as my father could afford. The door of my childhood home stands before me, beckoning. Jordaine had seen to it that the house had not crumbled with age or neglect...as part of our contract...in order to keep his life and his family intact, even though mine had been torn from me._

_Even knowing it would be mine again, I had not been here in years, yearning for the day when i could look on it again, with my sister by my side...that I could give Marjolaine back what had been stolen from us...the girlhood dreams and idle fancies. It was not to be. This city corrupted us both...but the woman beside me now gave me the desire to claw my way out of those shadows and attempt to dream again, to live again, to **love** again. _

_"This is what I have done." I take her elbow and guide her to the door, feeling strong enough at last to open it and step over the threshold of a life that had been stolen from a child, so long ago._

_Giselle enters and her eyes widen at the preparations that have been made. A fire glows in the hearth; candles illuminate the entryway. A doorway reveals the main room of the house, where my family had gathered together in the evenings. I guide her into it, letting her see the tables, the shelves stocked with all the amenities the Chantry clinic had offered her._

_Her eyes widen and the satchel she carries falls to the floor. "Kathyra, what is this place?" She asks, moving into the kitchen and the dining area, back through the main room and up the stairs, to the room I have furnished as her office and library, and lastly, to the bedroom, with its single bed._

_"It is..." My throat tightens and I am at the utter mercy of hope. "...it is your home, Giselle. If you so desire it."_

_"Wha...what?" She turns to me, her eyes sparkling like midnight stars._

_"When I bought my freedom from Leron," I tell her the end of my tale, "I had a plan in place. This is my childhood home, and today...today I made the final payment owed to make it mine once more." I remove the deed from where I had tucked it against my heart, and hold it out to her. "I meant to buy it back and give Marjolaine the life we should have had...the chance to thrive, the chance to live. When she betrayed me, those dreams died, and I let them be. You...you gave me new dreams, Giselle. You taught me how to live again, and how to **want** to live." _

_"Kathyra, this," She brushes tears from her cheek, "this cannot be happening."_

_"But it is, and it has...and if you cannot forgive me the risks I have taken, and if you cannot accept the gifts I would give...then I will go. I will go, and you can remain here, for I will **never** let you fear being cast out again. But I...I want to live here, with you. I want to make this place your home, **our** home. I want to see your defiance and determination persist in the saving of lives and...and not in the defense of your own. I want..."_

_My words cease as Giselle rips her satchel from my shoulder and drops it on the floor. She flings herself into my arms and presses me tight against her._

_"Oh, Kathyra..." Her words break on a sob. "I want that too. I want nothing more."_

_"Thank you." I breathe against her hair. "Thank you, my Giselle."_

_Hope fulfilled and trials endured at last break my resolve. The pain splintering my side and my leg is too much to endure any longer. My hands are trembling with exhaustion, my body is freezing, even though the house is warm. I am dizzy and I feel ill. My knees give out as the room begins spinning and Giselle drops down beside me, shoring me up._

_"Kathyra..." Worry sparks in her devastating green eyes._

_"I'm all right." My words slur the assurance and the rest of my body collapses, cradled in her arms. "Just...tired." I look into her eyes and see all manner of futures within them. It is worth the pain, chill, and sick feeling gnawing at my stomach. "And happy...so unbelievably happy."_


	41. Putting Ourselves Together

**Kathyra**

_Small, delicate fingers trace my lips, feeling the chapped skin and the split in the flesh. I attempt to stir, to keep her from worrying, but a hand on my shoulder stops my movement.  
_

_"Lie still." She whispers, her voice heavy with emotion. "Rest for a moment...we have time, now. When was the last time you had anything to drink?"_

_"I..." I think back, attempting to recall. "I don't know."_

_"Shit." She curses and I offer a breathy laugh, adoring the return of the sharp-tongued, indomitable woman I love. "I don't have a water skin, and the nearest well is..."_

_"In the house." I tell her, licking my dry lips, tasting blood. "One of the reasons it is so valuable. I'll go..." I move my right leg without thinking, hissing in pain as the burning flares again, worse than in Dorothea's chambers._

_"Stay still." Giselle's voice tremors. "How bad is the pain, Kathyra?"_

_"It's bear..."_

_"No, it_ _**isn't**." Giselle interrupts me. "We are safe now, trickster." She strokes her hand through my sweat-soaked hair. "We do not have to run, or hide. I cannot even fathom that I am...that you have given me a home. Please, you are exhausted and your wounds are only a day old. You do not have to be brave anymore..."_

_"I want to tear it off." I gritted my teeth against the pain. "My leg and side are on fire, Giselle. I'm so..." I shuddered, "...cold."_

_"That's it, trickster." Giselle strokes my cheek with the back of two fingers. "I'm going to get you some water. You just rest."_

_My eyes rest on her, drinking her in, admiring the way that her hair glimmers in the candlelight. She speaks, pleads, and I feel my bravado wash out of me. I want what she is offering to me. I want to be cared for; to lay down my sword and at last, finally, truly rest._

_"Giselle," I catch her attention as she stands in the doorway, "do you have...anything...to ease the pain?"_

_"All of the poppy syrup was locked away." Giselle frowns. "I have nothing so strong as that."_

_"In the kitchen." I murmur, shivering as chills wrack me. "There is wine."_

_"You've a proper Orlesian household then." She teases me, gentle. "I'll bring the wine."_

_I listen to her footsteps as she walks down the stairs and close my eyes, attempting to focus on my joy and not my pain. We had come so far. Somehow, by some strange, twisted grace that exists for sinners, we were here. We were **safe**. We could love one another and not have to be afraid. My eyelids flutter closed and I lean against the wall, content to shiver as chills continue to ripple through my body. _

_"You poor thing." Giselle's voice warms me from within. Her hand cups the back of my neck, soothing and strong. "You must be suffering. Here, drink this."_

_Cool clay touches my lips and then I taste the water, clear, crisp and refreshing. My body hungers for it and I lift my hand to the cup to steady it, wanting to drink it down._

_"Not all at once, love." Giselle cautions me. "I'm quite sure the last thing you desire is to be ill."_

_"You're right, at that." I agree, smiling. "Any chance you would allow me to move now, madame physician?"_

_"Slowly." She relents. "You have already strained yourself beyond any limit of sanity."_

_"Forgive me?" I whisper as she slips her arm around me and helps me stand. I do not hide the short, sharp cry of pain, or the curses that make the pain easier to bear as she helps me to the bed and makes me lie down on it. I sink into the mattress, grateful for the comfort and the warmth._

_"I am not certain I should." She replies, but her tone is jesting. "You seem intent on consistently undoing my work. If your stomach is feeling more settled, you should finish the water. Then, I would recommend the wine. I am going to have to examine your wound and..." She rests her hand on my forehead and her green eyes fire with alarm. "Kathyra, how long have you had a fever?"_

_"I...what?"_

_Before I can say anything further, Giselle's delicate healer's blade is shredding my clothing. She pulls it off of me, leaving me naked before her, shivering. She reaches for the sheets, pulling them over my body as I shudder. Moments later, she is near the hearth, lighting the fire I prepared earlier in the day._

_"Ill and injured, staggering around Val Royeaux like a crazed lunatic..." I hear her muttering and I smile. I do not care about my injuries, or my illness. All is well in my world._

_**It has been so long since I indulged in any sort of joy. It has been so long since I allowed hope in my heart that everything is made new. I am a child again...I am a child, rewriting my history, forgiving my past, allowing a present, dreaming of a future.**_

_Giselle removes the blankets that cover the worst injury done to me in the dungeon. Her lips quiver as she examines me and I see true worry in her eyes. She reaches out, rests her hand on my shoulder, and I flinch as parts of my body awaken to sensations that are the furthest thing from pain. Giselle pulls her hand away as if she has burned me._

_"Did I hurt you?" She asks._

_"No." I clench my hands into fists as my answer emerges in a hoarse rasp._

_"Are you certain?" She questions, looking into my eyes for the answers, answers I am not comfortable giving._

_**So much has changed so quickly...and she is naive in the ways of the world. Never having known a lover's touch...and the first lips to brush hers were tainted with lies and trickery and deceit. And the first hands that held her were those of a murderer. She deserves better, to come to her own decisions, her own desires, before I act. In her time. In her time, as she has given me all that I needed.**_

_"Quite." I smile in encouragement, the expression fading as I watch concern furrow her brow._

_"Your bandages are soaked with blood, darling." She whispers, her hand cupping my cheek. "It is little wonder you are so pale. I am afraid...removing your bandages will hurt, Kathyra. Badly."_

_"I appreciate the warning."_

_**I will endure any amount of pain, Giselle. If I am with you, I can bear anything.**_

_"Fool." She chastises me, turns to the table, and I hear the sound of liquid. The fragrance of Orlesian red wine stings the air and the cup appears at my lips again. "This is the best that I can do for the pain." She murmurs. "Drink it as quickly as you can."_

_I toss the wine back, swallowing it, not even registering the taste. It burns down my throat with a pleasant heat and settles in my stomach with an acrid burn. I close my eyes to focus on my breathing and prepare for the pain, opening them again when I hear and feel the glass being refilled._

_"Drink again, if you can." Giselle urges me. "You are running a fever, Kathyra. The most likely cause of it is an infection. If that is the case, removing the bandages will be a worse pain than receiving the cut."_

_I quaff the second glass, grateful, for the first time, that Dorothea forbade alcohol of any sort in the Chantry. I have not tasted wine in months and, now that I drink, I feel the effects of it already beginning. My muscles relax as I sink down into the mattress, and my thoughts begin to fog._

_"Forgive me, trickster." Giselle pleads._

_Her healer's blade rips through the blood-clotted bandaging and I grit my teeth. Even though she is careful, the cloth clings to the skin, making it difficult to pull away. I breathe through the pain and attempt to focus on the touch of her hands, once terrifying, now soothing. I cannot believe that I have come this far in so short a time, from a woman who despised the very notion of hope to the one willing to go against those more powerful in defense of it. I open my eyes and gaze upon the woman I love, watching her brow furrow in concentration, her hands pull away the ruined bandaging, and her eyes taking everything in, planning the best way in which to treat me._

_"You are so lovely." I whisper, letting the wine take the knowledge of my body away. "So kind and gentle and forgiving. How is it that your eyes ever looked upon me with desire?"_

_Her hands do not cease their work, but I see them tremble. "You were the first to offer me a kind word." She breathes. "The first to acknowledge that I, too, feel as mortals feel. That I experience grief and loss and hopelessness. You were the first to look beyond the eyes that glow at night, the points of my ears, the delicacy of my bones...you believed there was a heart within, and attempted to find it. You were the first to take up my defense in the presence of...of my 'betters,' as they consider themselves. You fought for me, Kathyra, something no one else has ever done."_

_"Giselle," My throat goes dry, but I must be honest. I must give her the chance for the truest sort of freedom, "there are...there are others who would look upon you in that way. Those who are...who are not...not like me. Those who are...better."_

_"Are you trying to run away again, trickster?" She asks, a lilt in her voice that I do not understand. "I had thought us past that point."_

_"I am not running." I hasten to explain. "I want...I want you to have everything you were never given; the opportunity to choose, not merely take what is offered. To find something...someone...you want."_

_"I want you, so cease being idiotic." The absolute clarity of her statement shocks me into silence as the last of the bandaging comes free. Giselle hisses and I catch her eyes, afraid of the worry that I see in them._

_"Damn it." The muscle in her jaw tightens as she clenches and unclenches it. "The skin is inflamed. Badly." She runs her fingers lightly along the stitches, sending sparkwaves of pain through me. A pained whimper crosses my lips before I can bite it back. "You should have remained in bed, Kathyra." She reprimands me, but there is a gentleness in her words as she looks at what she knows was done for her sake. "What am I going to do with you?"_

_"Whatever you so desire." I whisper, and I hear her breath catch in her lungs._

_"You're in no condition for **that**." She says and my body catches fire at her words as I see her, illuminated in candlelight, sensual and beautiful and completely unaware...completely unaware of what she does. Of who she is. _

_**A pure heart in a polluted world. Innocent and yet provocative, gentle and yet forceful, kind and yet dominant. There are none who match you, Giselle.**_

_Giselle's lips thin as she takes the cup from my hand and refills it with wine. She holds it out to me and I shake my head, already drifting with the wine I drank earlier._

_"Please, Kathyra." She whispers. "For me. The wound is inflamed and infected. I will have to remove the stitches and clean it. I thought...I thought it was cleaned well enough before but...but I must have missed something. It is going to be very, very painful. You've done nothing but good for me and I am...I am going to have to hurt you."_

_I take the cup from her hand as I smile and drain the wine. "You are only having to hurt me because...I didn't...take time to heal. Maker's breath..."_

_My head falls back onto the pillow. I watch Giselle in a bleary haze of wine. She lifts her satchel from the floor and opens it, withdrawing her mortar and pestle, and several pouches. A glass bottle joins them on the table, filled with a clear substance I know all too well. An alcohol made by several of the lay brothers. It has excellent antiseptic properties, but burns like fury against the skin...and worse inside the skin. However, I have used it to destroy countless infections...doubtless what Giselle plans to use it for._

_She pours a small amount of olive oil into the mortal and pestle, followed by two pungent smelling herbs. My mind is too bleary to recognize them, but she must see the questions in my eyes._

_"Witch hazel and tumeric." She informs me as she grinds the herbs into a paste and scoops the mixture into small linen pouches. "Poultices to wrap the wound in, after I have cleaned it. The herbs should help the swelling go down, and, with any luck, prevent further infection." She presses the backs of her fingers to my forehead once more and frowns. "You're burning up." She whispers, and I do not know if it is the wine or the fever, but I hear a note of reverence in her voice. "You are too kind to me, and you have no reason to be. You should have let me stay..."_

_"Never...say that...again." I take her hand in mine, grateful for the comfort that the simple touch provides. "I could not do that, Giselle. I could not let you live a single day under that regime and pressure...I could not live one day bearing the memory of your words."_

_"Will you ever forgive me for saying those things?" She asks as she prepares the last poultice, washes her hands, then soaks the blade of her healer's knife in the stringent alcohol. "For...for lying to you as I did?"_

_"There are many kinds of lies, Giselle." I whisper. "And yours was one of love. There is nothing to forgive."_

_"It hurt, Kathyra." She confesses. "I wanted to tear my heart from my chest, it hurt so badly. And now, when all I wish to do is rest with you, hold you, and repair the wounds of my lies, I must cause you pain. I must injure you afresh. I am..."_

_"The woman I love." I interrupted her. "I do not care if you hurt me, Giselle. If it means...if it means I can be with you, I will accept a galaxy of anguish."_

_Giselle readies her blade, the fine-honed edge of it gleaming in the candlelight.  "Do not hide your pain, my love." She urges. "Express it and let it be done."_

_I nod, cold sweat sliding down my back as Giselle, with a deft hand, slices through the stitches. The wine has dulled my senses, but not enough. I cry out as the edges of the wound gape again, beginning to ooze blood and, in some places, pus. Giselle, bless her, concentrates solely on her work. Tears spring to my eyes as she removes the remnants of silk thread and massages the edges of the wound, pushing out more of the infection. She holds the candle close to the wound, looking for something she might have missed. Sweat glistens on her forehead, falling down her face like tears._

_"The good news is that there is no debris in the wound. How are you feeling?" She whispers, washing away the blood, causing me to wince as she brushes against the inflamed edges of the laceration._

_"Hurts." I breathe through gritted teeth._

_"Only a little more pain." She promises, and I believe her. "Then healing can begin. Keep breathing, my love, and if the darkness comes, accept it."_

_I take a shuddering breath as she lifts the bottle of pure alcohol. Her fingers spread the wound and she pours the alcohol into the gash. All of my muscles lock in place; my nerves shriek in unadulterated agony. I throw my head back and scream until my throat is raw. Giselle, undeterred, continues her assault, even though I beg her to stop, even though I weep and plead for the pain to end. The torture continues until I can no longer move, until I lie utterly still, trembling inside from anguish. A low, keening moan fills the room, coming from between my parted lips._

_"Forgive me, trickster." Giselle whispers, repeating the words over and over like a prayer. "Forgive me, please."_

_My eyes stray to the table. The alcohol is gone. The worst is past. A cool cloth, carried in gentle hands, comes to rest across my forehead, breaking the fire, dimming the fever. A cup comes to my lips and I smell the fragrance of wine._

_"Drink, my love." She urges me. "Let slumber take you."_

_"You will..." My words slur. "...stay?"_

_"Forever." Her reply is a promise, a promise to cling to as oblivion beckons. "I love you, trickster."_

_I reach out with a shaking hand, touching her face, bringing it close, enough to graze the tip of her pointed ear with my lips._

_"I...love you...too."_


	42. Morning Dawns Anew

**Kathyra**

_Morning light peers through the window, nudging my eyelids until they open. The mere process of peeling my eyelids open feels as though I am contending with a rusty gate. My head is aching like fury, but I am no longer freezing. The flames in my leg and side have cooled and calmed. I feel...better. So much better.  
_

_I look around the room, seeking Giselle. She is nowhere to be seen, and my heart curls up in my chest, tightening everything around it. I try to breathe deep, but the panic is shortening my breath._

_**What if Dorothea has found her? What if Giselle is somewhere in prison, taken from me while I slept. What if she is being tortured!? Maker, please, I do not understand. Why would you take her from me!?**_

_I push myself up, gritting my teeth against the fresh wave of pain. I need to find her; to make certain that nothing has happened. My leg resists. It does not want to move, but I will force it to. I did so yesterday, and I can summon the strength to do so again._

_"If you even attempt to move I will tie you to that bed, Kathyra." Giselle threatens me as she enters the room._

_Her smile shines brighter than the sun outside, and within my spirit, I calm. She holds a steaming bowl in her hands. I notice it trembling a she walks towards me. The skin beneath her eyes is darkened and puffy; as though she did not sleep at all._

_"It's just porridge." She holds the bowl out to me. "But I managed to find a jar of honey in the...is it a clinic, Kathyra? Did you...how..." Her questions fall short and she stares at me in bewilderment._

_"I have been saving gold for years." I whisper, staring down at the breakfast lovingly prepared. "I took jobs Leron knew nothing about, and secreted the money away, where no one would find it. He thought the gold I paid him for my freedom was all that I had. It's the sole reason he accepted it, I think. He believed that he had impoverished me. He was wrong." I hang my head in shame. My confession is so much more than this, and I can only pray that she will forgive me for it. "The money that purchased this home, our new clinic, is blood money, Giselle. I took lives. I can think of no better purpose than using that blood-soaked gold to...to save them."_

_Giselle sighs and sits down on the edge of the bed. An elegant hand strokes her golden hair back, revealing the tip of a pointed ear. She looks out of the window, and sighs._

_"This is Orlais." She says after a moment of contemplation. "Most of the gold here, especially in Val Royeaux, is stained with blood of some sort. The blood money of guilty nobles founded the Chantry clinic. I cannot be a hypocrite now, Kathyra. You've thought of everything. A home. A place where I can do good in my own way, without having to submit to the Chantry's dictates..." Her voice trails off, growing darker, and a shadow dwells in her luminous green eyes. "I won't have to...never again..." Tears begin to fall down her cheeks._

_"Giselle?" I ask, attempting to sit up, failing as pain forces me back against the pillows. "Giselle, my darling, what is it?"_

_"Before...before I found you." Giselle fiddles with her hands, twisting them together in her lap. "There was a man brought into our clinic. He was...he was very, very ill. His fever was high and he had lesions all over his body. I thought he would perish, but he lasted the night. He began to get well. When he was cogent again, I asked him about the name he had cried out in his delirium. It was the name of his lover, a wealthy an influential comte...who had given him the disease through intimacy. Thinking nothing of it, I sent word to the comte. He came to the clinic, Kathyra and...and he spoke to Dorothea. When Dorothea came to me, she was livid. She ordered me to...she ordered me to kill the young man, to stop treating the illness and let it take him. The comte promised a small fortune in donations if we let his lover die...and with him, the knowledge of the disease, which would make his wealthier, higher titled wife abandon him."_

_The anguish in her voice is too much for me to bear. I fight down the pain and force myself to sit up so that I can reach out and take her hand. She turns her eyes to mine and I reach up, cupping her cheek._

_"I did not want to do it, Kathyra." She sobs. "I fought against it with everything I had, screaming at Dorothea. Defying her. She struck me and...and locked me in my rooms. I screamed the whole night, knowing what would happen if he were not treated. The next day...the next day, Dorothea forced me to...to prepare the body for burial. I did and I...I hated myself for not being able to stop it...I hated myself even more for...for using the gold the comte gave us to provide for the clinic."_

_"Giselle." I whisper. "I want to hold you. Please...I can't...can't move."  
_

_"Good." She smiles, moving closer to me. "You shouldn't move. Your wounds require you to lie still, and rest, and...your fever broke last night." She kisses my forehead and I know perfect peace. "I desire it to stay that way."_

_"Then come to me." I plead with her. "Let me hold you."_

_She moves to my side, lying down alongside me, her eyes filled with fatigue, her body craving rest. My arm wraps around her and she rests her head upon my breasts, exhaling with a heavy sigh. I can feel her exhaustion and her pain and, even though I am not well versed in love, I want to care for her in the way I know._

_"You stayed up through the night watching over me, didn't you?" I ask, knowing the answer already._

_"I was afraid." She mumbles, her breath tickling my breast. "Needed to...make sure...you were all right."_

_"I'm fine, my love." I whisper, and believe. "Let me watch over you now. Rest, Giselle. We will sort through the madness and intricacies of life another time."_

_She says nothing, but soft snores drift to my ears like the sweetest music. I close my eyes and hold her close, rejoicing in the perfect silence between us. I do not know how to love. But I am learning, and this, holding her, listening to her, feels more right than anything I have ever done. I am blessed and at peace with all the world. Here, even my demons cannot assail me._


	43. Humbled by Beauty

**Kathyra**

_"Is this how others live, Kathyra?" Giselle asks, surveying the expansive market square of Val Royeaux, the crush of people, the languages flying back and forth on the wind._

_"I would not know." I answer with a smile, resting my arm across her shoulders. My eyes flit into the shadows, watching every furtive deal, every word whispered, remembering the days when I dwelt there._

_"How isolated we were, in the Chantry." Giselle takes my hand, drawing strength from my knowledge of the world. "All of this...I do not not even know where to begin."_

_I pull her close to me. It has been a fortnight since our escape from the Chantry...two weeks spent in the bliss of silence and togetherness, planning for a future together, continuing to mold the first floor of our home into a small, functional clinic, and healing. The jagged cut from the guardsman's sword is now a reddened, harsh scar, but I do not care. It is a small price to pay for what we now have. Already word has spread of Giselle's clinic and people have come, seeking her help...uncaring of her heritage._

_Though Giselle balked, at first, at the thought of charging coin for services, she reconciled herself to it. I can sense that the adjustment has been difficult for her, but I know that she is strong enough to allow her life to change for the better. Even in this short time, she has loosened her tight control, no longer wearing her hair to conceal her ears, or wearing the robes mandated by the Chantry._

_"We can go home if you wish." I tell her. "I simply felt the need of fresh air. You've not been bedridden for days, my love."_

_"Home?" She inquires, her eyes alight. "Such a simple word...something so many people take for granted. And yet I cannot believe that such a thing is mine."_

_"Are you happy, Giselle?" I ask, worried that the wonder and awe will dissipate, that she will find herself confused and adrift and lost and wanting something different._

_"Are you going to persist in these obnoxious yet endearing inquiries?" She smiles and, for a moment, the world stops, time freezes, and everything is perfect._

_"Yes." I nod, emphatic, amazed at the peace I feel._

_Not so long ago, a crowded place would have set me on edge, seeking exits, afraid of the brush of a stranger or words said in passing. Instead, there is a calm that I have known only from her presence. Home is not the structure I have purchased. Home is remaining in her presence._

_"I am happy, Kathyra." She assures me. "You are well again, the sun is bright in the sky, I can pursue knowledge and healing and I...I have a **home**. What more could I want?"_

_"Someone sane to share it with?"_

_"Idiot." She elbows me in the ribs and I feign injury, gasping melodramatically and loving her laughter as it echoes in the open air._

_"I love you, Giselle." It seems that I cannot say the words enough, though they are foreign, though they are different. I know they are true, and that is all that matters._

_"Kathyra?" I hear a familiar voice, and it chills me to the bone. "Giselle? Oh, thank the Maker! It **is** you!"_

_Mirien bursts from the crowd and doubles over, resting her hands on her knees and breathing heavily. My entire body tenses as Giselle's eyes fire with alarm._

_"Mirien," My physician takes the woman's hand and helps her rise, "is everything all right?"_

_"Giselle, where have you been?" Mirien asks, staring at me with all the fury of ignorance. "Don't you know...haven't you **heard**?"_

_"I have been rather preoccupied." Giselle answers, her shoulders stiffening._

_"We have been seeking you everywhere." Mirien catches her breath. "The night you left, someone tried to **kill** Revered Mother Dorothea!" She informs us. _

_Giselle's eyes fire to mine and I shake my head, letting her know that the truth she has not yet asked for will come to light at a later time, when those like Mirien are not present._

_"I highly doubt that." Giselle's voice is careful, cautious, with a hint of fear that makes me want to strangle Mirien and half the populace of Val Royeaux._

_"Her room was set on **fire!** " Mirien exclaims, a glint in her eyes that only exists in those who love to spread gossip. "We found her unconscious from smoke inhalation. Not to mention the burns...in any case, Giselle, Dorothea needs you. We did the best we could, but the burns were extensive, and they've become infected...not to mention that her lungs still haven't healed properly. We all have our skills but, at the end of the day...we aren't you."_

_"Mirien..." Giselle hesitates, for I know that in her true, beautiful heart, she desires to answer any cry for aid. "...I cannot go back there. Please understand...Dorothea and I parted on bad terms."_

_"Like hell!" The fiery physician erupts. "Your treatment was no different than any of ours, and well you know it. It's that apprentice of yours," Mirien glares at me, "shifty, no good..."_

_"I'll thank you to refrain from insulting Kathyra in my presence, **especially** if you desire my aid." Giselle threatens, and her eyes glimmer with wrath. _

_"It's not desire, Giselle, it is outright **need**." Mirien shudders. "The Divine **herself** came to the Chantry. Can you imagine telling **Her Holiness** that we are at a loss, and the most skilled among us is **nowhere** to be found? You abandoned us, Giselle...and for what?"_

_**For freedom. For a home. For a life. Maker's breath, Mirien, you truly are daft!**_

_Giselle purses her lips, and I can see the guilt weighing on her. "Go back, Mirien."_

_"Will you come?" She asks, her dark eyes wide and pleading. "Please, Giselle."_

_"I will come as soon as I am able." Giselle answers, and my heart begins to break._

_Mirien rushes back through the crowd, towards the Chantry. Giselle gathers her composure, breaths deep, and looks at me. Her eyes are alight with fear and with sorrow. I do not know why she is afraid, but I am terrified that her fear is not of Dorothea, not of the Chantry...but of me._

_"I have to do this, Kathyra." She tells me before I can even protest. "I cannot leave a woman to die in agony. Not even Dorothea."_

_"She would have done worse to you." I counter, attempting to control my anger._

_"That notwithstanding..."_

_"Do not make excuses, Giselle." I order. "If you want to go back to that hell, and back to Dorothea's machinations and **evil** , then let me wash my hands of this."_

_"You cannot!" Giselle exclaims. "I **know** you are the one who set that blaze, and while I am **certain** that you did not intend any harm to come to Dorothea, that is what transpired. If this is a plot, I **must** walk into it. If this is a trap, it **must** be sprung."_

_"Why?" I ask, confused._

_"Because how better to earn my freedom than to aid the woman who would have had you tortured to keep me as her prisoner?"_

_"How better to undo my crimes." I spit, angry and afraid. "How better to save my pathetic self once again. Go. Just go. Do what you feel you must."_

_"Come with me." Giselle entreats. "What is happening has nothing to do with you. I **have** to do this for myself...to allow forgiveness to enter my heart. Can you comprehend that?"_

_"I am **afraid** for you." I tell her, worried that this is a ruse, that the physicians of the Chantry are seeking Giselle for an entirely different reason that Mirien's tale would have us believe._

_"I am afraid for myself." She admits. "Please, do not let us be at odds, Kathyra. I need you with me...I have...I rely on you, trickster. Please do not make me face her alone."_

_"I..." **I want to live as you do, Giselle. I want to be as you are.** "...of course, Giselle."_

_"Thank you, Kathyra." Her hand wraps around my own, and I can feel her hesitance, her fear, and at the same time, her determination and desire to do what she believes is right._

_**Maker, protect us.**_


	44. Learning Forgiveness

**Kathyra**

     "You look contemplative." Leliana commented, sitting down beside Kestrel, looking exhausted. 

     The templar private rested against the wall of the cabin, cradling her companion's head in her lap, absently running her fingers through Rylie's chestnut curls.

     "Simply lost in thought." Kestrel replied, her vivid eyes looking into the ever-so dangerous realm of the mind.

     "Distract me." Leliana offered, pressing her fingers lightly against the pulse point in Rylie's neck, frowning a little, but wiping the expression from her features as Kestrel turned her eyes to the former bard.

     "Is anger justified in a situation such as this?" Kestrel asked. "I want...I want to be furious, let my heart fill with hatred, and feel the loathing most templars have towards mages. Why, when I search for rage, can I find only pity?"

     "You are in quite the predicament." Leliana smiled, not a smile of joy, but of comfort. "But it is understandable, given your unique view on the situation."

     Kestrel shook her head. "I've never been close to the conflict." She whispered, mystifying me as to her meaning. She sighed. "I feel like I'm betraying her." She looked down at Rylie and closed her eyes, creasing her brow in confusion.

     "Why would you feel that?" Leliana rested her hand on the private's shoulder, and once again I wondered how she could so easily offer physical comfort.

     "Because I should be spitting fire and speaking as the others are speaking. Of swift retribution and the Maker's justified vengeance...when all I truly desire is to unmake my decision to join the templar order. I can't hate, Leliana. I do not seem to have it within me...not even in defense of the woman I love. Is that not a betrayal?"

     "Not at all." Leliana answered. "In my experience, love never desires to change another to fit a certain mold. Love is...beyond our comprehension."

     "It must be." Kestrel smiled down at Rylie. "Because I must confess, I find myself baffled."

     "Hard lessons learned so young." Leliana mused. "Some of our paths are more difficult than it seems they have any right to be."

     "I will find my way." Kestrel said, a calm, simple statement, not proud or flush with the bravado of the young. "I always have."

     "I know someone who speaks in quite the same manner." Leliana whispered, and from the light in her eyes I knew that she spoke of the warden. "Promise me one thing, Kestrel."

     "What?" The templar private asked.

     "Do not let your way find you alone at the end of it." Leliana smiled. "Otherwise, your dark thoughts will swallow you whole."

     Kestrel nodded in understanding. "I cannot revile the mages." The conversation returned to its beginning. "And I cannot ignore the atrocities they committed. What do I do, Leliana?"

     Leliana fell silent, contemplating her answer. "Remember the wrongs done, so that you will not find yourself deceived." She counseled after consideration. "And after that...forgive them."

* * *

_Giselle opens the door of the Chantry, striding in with no apprehension, her body language screaming of defiance, even as mine cowers. My single, solitary dream hangs by a thread, hovering at the razor's edge. Dorothea holds all the cards, and in this game of Wicked Grace, I fear she is calling a bluff.  
_

_Mirien paces within the clinic, relief washing over her at our entrance. "Oh, thank the Maker." She whispers. "Come with me, please."_

_She leads us up the familiar stairs, to a different room than Dorothea's chambers, and opens the door. I scan the area, looking for guards or templars, those who will spring from the shadows and wrest from me my liberty and my reason for life. There are none there but another physician of the Chantry. He looks up, his worried grey eyes lighting as he catches sight of Giselle._

_"Maker's blessings to you." He whispers, with a hint of reverence I have never before heard from him._

_"Everyone excepting Kathyra," Giselle speaks, the command in her voice unmistakable, "get out. I need to be able to work in peace."_

_"No." A rasping croak from the bed. Dorothea's voice, thick with infection and smoke."Do not dare leave me alone with her."_

_"I think it best." Mirien worries her lower lip with her teeth. "We should do as Giselle says, Mother Dorothea. You are in good hands."_

_"Mirien, I need cool water that has been boiled, tea tree oil, a leaf of aloe, and a sleeping draft." Giselle says as the healer vacates his seat beside Dorothea's bed and allows Giselle to sit there._

_Quiet, he leaves the room, and Mirien dashes off to gather what my physician needs. Giselle sits beside Dorothea, gazing, with impossible calm, at the woman who would have been her slave owner. I stand before the window, arms crossed, glaring at the Revered Mother. Dorothea is pale, her skin slick with sweat, her breath labored. I can read the accusations in her canny eyes, in spite of her pain and discomfort._

_"You have your chance now." She rasps, turning her attention to Giselle. "To cause me pain.  Is that not why you have come, half-elf?" She asks as Giselle makes no move to do anything. Dorothea extends an arm swathed in bandaging. It is stained with the red of blood and the yellowish green of infection. "Do it." She orders. "Rip this from my skin and sate your lusts."_

_Giselle locks eyes with the Revered Mother. "I have no desire to cause you pain, Dorothea." She says, forthright._

_"You..." Dorothea gasps as she breathes too deeply, "... **lie**."_

_Giselle feels the pulse point at Dorothea's wrist and frowns. "You should not over-exert yourself." She advises in the cool, calm tone of the physician. "It will only speed the infection."_

_"Why did you come?" Dorothea demands. "I let your little pet win her game," Her eyes flick to me. "I would have presumed you would dance upon hearing of my demise."_

_"Whatever accord you struck with Kathyra is between the two of you." Giselle replies. "I had nothing to do with it. As to why I have come...I took an oath, Dorothea."_

_Giselle falls silent and Dorothea's brow, once furrowed in anger, now loosens with confusion. "No lecture, Giselle?" She asks. "No cavalier remarks on how I have forsaken my vows..."_

_"You know your sins, as I know mine." Giselle answers, her voice soft. "Now is not the time to pick at the scabs of old grievances. This is a time of healing."_

_"You...you make no sense. You are inhuman." Dorothea speaks, but the words are **no** compliment, and Giselle understands this as well as I. _

_"You are not wrong, Dorothea." A half-smile quirks her lips. "You are not wrong."_

_Mirien returns and sets the requisite supplies on the bedside table, withdrawing as quickly as she had entered. Giselle uncorks the sleeping draft and smells it. The heady scent of poppy pervades the room and I wince, remembering the stench of the stuff from Leron's pipe._

_"Drink this." Giselle holds the vial to Dorothea's lips, and the revered mother glares at her._

_"Why?" She demands._

_"So that I might keep my word." Giselle states, and her voice would sound passionless to any who did not know her. "So that you will feel no pain. So that healing can begin."_

_"Do not dare presume that you have achieved a higher moral standing by this action." Dorothea accuses._

_"I have presumed nothing about this moment." Giselle hand tremors slightly, and I want to offer her my comfort...but I can see that she is fighting the same battle with Dorothea that I waged._

_**That my war ended in pain and injury...I fight with blade and flame and sharp, sharp teeth. But somehow...somehow Giselle molds mercy into a battle cry, gentility into armor...and kindness into a sword.**_

_Dorothea takes the draft from Giselle's hand and drains it, her eyes slowly unfocusing as the poppy takes hold. Giselle simply holds Dorothea's hand, letting her thumb run along the older woman's knuckles._

_"I forgive you, Dorothea." Giselle says, and my heart threatens to burst in my chest as I bear witness to a scene that defies all comprehension. "Rest well, Revered Mother."_

_"You are foolish if you think this will change her mind about you." I break my silence, allowing my cynicism and knowledge of darker hearts to come forth._

_Giselle smiles at me as she begins to unwind the bandaging from Dorothea's burns. "You are the fool here, trickster." The words are not a rebuke, but they are gentle, and understanding, and **patient**. "It is not her mind I desire to change...but her heart."_

_"That will not..."_

_"The heart wants what it wants, Kathyra." She whispers an oft quoted mantra. "And so often...the heart's desire contradicts every edict of the mind." Her viridian eyes meet mine and they **glow**. "The heart always desires change...because life is nothing more than change...and, at the core of us...does not every mortal want to live?"_

_My hand goes to the scar on my right side, to the wound that should have killed me, that I, at one time, **wanted** to have killed me. _

_**But I lived. And I changed. And I continue...**_

_I straighten my shoulders and let my fear fall away. "What can I do to help you?"_


	45. The Cost of Forgiveness

**Kathyra**

_"Make certain that she has someone with her at every hour of the day, to monitor her breathing." Giselle gives instructions to Mirien as she washes her hands free of the blood and puss and dead skin from Dorothea's injuries. "I can do precious little for her lungs, but with time, they should recover fully. Make certain she does not over-exert herself. Change the bandages twice daily and keep applying aloe and honey until the burns heal. Also, do **not** come to me again for help...all of you have been trained, you should know your work well enough by now."  
_

_"Are you truly leaving us, Giselle?" Mirien asks, a plaintive note in her voice. "For good?"_

_"I am." My physician answers, emphatic, and my heart lights with joy. "I no longer have a place here, and Dorothea will mend, given enough time."_

_"I just..." Mirien mutters, "...I wish I understood what has obviously transpired."_

_"Don't gossip, Mirien." Giselle chides, but her tone is light. "It does not become you."_

_"You're a cruel woman, Giselle." Mirien teases, her dark eyes sparking. "There is a tale here to be told, and..."_

_I rest my hand on the smaller woman's shoulder as a warning. "You should not attempt to insinuate yourself where no welcome has been shown." I caution her._

_Mirien turns to look at me and her eyes widen as she sees the expression on my face. Severe, cold, and bloodthirsty...a look I have not worn for so very, very long._

_"Fine then." Mirien's voice goes cold. "But you listen here, Kathyra. You...You take..." Her eyes well with tears, "...you take good care of our Giselle. I do not know the tale, but I know you stole her from here and from us, and that...well, that is..."_

_"That is enough, Mirien. The story is inconsequential, I promise." Giselle sounds so tired and my eyes dart to her in worry._

_She offers me a wan smile as we exit the Chantry and walk home in silence. The streets ring with their normal chaos, but the air around us is tight and thick with tension. Giselle's eyes are over-bright, her shoulders taut, her lips pursed. I want to ask if I have done something wrong, if looking at the cost of her freedom had soured its taste and made her wish to return to the Chantry clinic and abandon what we were building together. However, I keep my silence, holding my worries close to my heart; refusing to burden her with them._

_We find our way home as the sun sets. Giselle closes the door behind her and sags against it, looking drained of all strength._

_"Giselle..."_

_"Leave me be." She whispers, but it is not a tone of command. "Just for a moment, Kathyra, I need...I need to think."_

_"Of course." I slip up the stairway, eager to acquiesce to her wishes, no matter what they might be._

_I pace back and forth in the office, listening, waiting, longing for my name to be called...for anything. To assure myself that I had done no wrong in taking my action against Dorothea. There is war within my spirit as I question the battle Giselle must herself be fighting._

_**Is she questioning that which brought her here? Does she desire freedom from the hands that shattered her chains? Does she wish to be rid of me?**_

_The crash of broken glass jars me from my thoughts and sends me down the stairs at a run. I rush into the clinic, torn to shreds by the scene before me. Giselle leans against the wall, white-faced and trembling, her arms wrapped around her in a protective posture. Shards of glass lie on the floor, vials broken, their contents pooling on the ground._

_Giselle lifts her eyes to mine. "All I wanted was to kill her." She whispers. "Every moment, sitting there beside her, tending her wounds...that **bitch** made my life a living hell! Every day, living on the tenuous thread of human grace, wondering when Dorothea's endless torments would earn her desire...my subjugation or self-destruction. I fought and I fought but the war never ended! I **tried**! I **tried** to do what was asked, to remain true to my calling, at every moment stifled by that...that petulant, pretentious cow!"_

_I remain silent, knowing that she needs now what she has given to me so many times. A listening ear, a non-judgmental voice, a validation of mattering in this cold, bitter world. I kneel down and begin to clean the glass from the floor._

_"I kept thinking of how easy it would be." Giselle sinks to the ground and wraps her arms about her knees. "To slip nightshade into her sleeping draft, or, or...or any number of things. Let the fucking infection take her! She **laughed** , Kathyra. That day, when she pulled me from the dungeons, she **laughed** , so giddy in her triumph, so assured of her power as she shoved that damned contract into my hands and made me read my own notice of slavery."_

_I set the fragments of glass aside on the table and walk to Giselle, sitting beside her, unsure of what to say. I had thought her heart so pure, so full of light, that such thoughts would never cross her mind. I realize now that she is as mortal as the rest of us, but that does nothing to dampen my order, nothing to taint my love._

_**Do you know how much more beautiful you are...even with what you perceive as flaws?**_

_"Why did you not?" I ask._

_"I do not damn well know!" Giselle flings her hands into the air, despairing. "If anyone can mask death, it is me! If anyone can weep and lie as necessary, it is **surely** me! I have shaken the foundation of everything I thought of myself..."_

_"And yet you only thought." I attempt to console her. "You did not act. You stayed true to your beliefs, and honored your calling."_

_"I have never wanted to kill, Kathyra." Giselle huddles into herself and weeps._

_"I know." I tell her, remembering the young woman with knives in her hands...the first strike of a blade through flesh, the stench of blood and death...the physical illness that followed._

_"I do not know what to do." Giselle confesses. "I feel so very fraudulent. I should want nothing but to heal, to give life. How could I have been so naive, so fucking stupid as to think my heart could be above harboring hatred!?"_

_"Giselle, if you truly harbored hatred, you would have obeyed your darker heart." I attempt to reassure her, uncertain of her reaction, almost dreading it. "You would not have healed Dorothea."_

_"You see only the good in me, trickster." Giselle mutters. "Tell me now...tell me now what you think, now that you know evil dwells there as well."_

_"I think nothing less of you, Giselle." I give her the truth. "I love you, Giselle. And it was...it was my actions that forced you to face this darkness within. If either of us should feel guilt...I am the one to blame."_

_"No." Giselle shakes her head. "No. I did not have to go to Dorothea...in fact, you begged me not to. but I must...I must think this through, Kathyra. I fully intended to do nothing but aid her, as payment for my freedom, as a twisted sort of gratitude. Yet, when I saw her, weak and fragile and utterly at my mercy..." She shudders and I pull her into my arms. "How weak you must think me...whimpering like a beaten child over nothing but a desire, a whim, a thought."_

_"You have been surrounded by the darkness of the world and never succumbed to it." I whisper against her hair. "But all of us give in. All of us fall short. It is...it is mortal nature."_

_"I'm frightened, trickster." She confesses. "I am frightened of what I might do."_

_"You will do the right thing...just as you did today." I console her. "Because, the truth of your heart is that it is strong, and humble, and **kind**. Look at me, Giselle."_

_My physician lifts her eyes to mine, seeking something that I not know if I can offer._

_"These hands," I hold them before her, letting her see the collection of small scars, the calluses from wielding blades, "were once suited to nothing but death. And I had given up hope of putting them to any other use. You took a dark heart and returned it to the light. You took a murderer's hands and made them a healer's. Knowing this, knowing me, **all** of me, how can you question the truth of yourself?"_

_"I never wish to think such things again." She says. "But I am shaken in my spirit, Kathyra. I do not know up from down or left from right or right from wrong."_

_"Let the world twist and turn for tonight, then." I rise and extend my hand, helping her to her feet. "It will be clearer with the morning. Trust me...the shadows create demons where there were none before. In the light of day...all will be well."_

_"You speak with such surety."_

_"I blame the one who taught me."_

_Giselle narrows her eyes, but a smile quickly darts across her face. "Wench."_


	46. The Murdering of Fear

**Kathyra**

_I stay awake through the night, holding Giselle. She sleeps fitfully and mutters with the occasional dream. I wish that I could spare her this pain...the pain of reconciling herself with a darker heart. I was still learning to reconcile myself to my own, but I succeeded only because she had given me the strength to face what I was. She helped and helps me believe that I can change...that no matter the tarnish, somewhere beneath my soul, silver still gleams.  
_

_**But can I give you that same strength?**_ _I wonder. **Can I offer you any consolation? I am proof...I am proof that one can emerge into the light from darkness...but how does one turn away from the lure of the shadows? Their song is sweet and tempting...it can swallow you whole before you even realize.**_

_Giselle jerks in my arms and her eyes flash open as she begins to shiver. I pull her tighter into me, attempting to shield her from the cruelty of the night. All is easier in the morning. Easier to see. Easier to bear. Easier to understand._

_"Ka...Kathyra?" She asks, her voice hazy and hoarse with the remnants of her nightmare._

_"I'm here." I assure her. "You are safe." **You are the only one who is...safe in my presence. From my presence.**_

_She turns in my embrace and traces the contours of my face with her gaze. "I dreamed you were gone." She whispers, brushing my lips with the tips of her fingers. "I dreamed that I betrayed your faith in me...that I fell in your eyes and that you left to seek a brighter way and purer heart. I saw my hands mixing poisons and drinking them, but they did not kill me...for evil cannot destroy evil."_

_"Oh, my Giselle." I breathe, stricken to the core by the nightmares still hovering in her luminous eyes. "My darling physician. Do not let dreams torment you. They are nothing but..."_

_"Fears made manifest." Giselle finishes. "Our memories relived. This...this past fortnight has been so surreal. I wonder when this waking dream will be torn away from me."_

_"Never." I vow. "I have only just discovered my heart, but it is there, beating strongly, and it desire nothing but to continue in this life that we are building, with you beside me."_

_"When did you become so eloquent?" She wonders. "When did your heart become so fierce?"_

_I ponder an answer to the question, knowing that there is only one. "When I realized at long last that I still had something to fight for. I tried for so hard and so long to be a protector for my sister, and I failed. I failed miserably. That failure made me disregard my own life, and think it worth nothing. But then...when I would not even fight for myself, **you** fought for me, first for my life, and then for my soul. Life is a gift, Giselle...I realize that on a more intimate level than any healer."_

_"Moreso than even I." Giselle tucks her head against my shoulder. "It is strange...to find myself crumbling apart after the revelation of one flaw. I cannot imagine the wars you have waged, Kathyra...did I at least aid you in some way? Please tell me that you did not fight your darkness alone."_

_I want to assuage her spirit, but the art of using words to comfort is foreign still. To beguile, yes. To deceive, yes. To threaten, yes. To seduce...oh yes. In all of those areas I possess true eloquence...but this is still uncharted territory for me, and I fear I might falter...or fail._

_"Tell me something, Giselle." I prop my head up on my hand and look down at her, tangling my fingers in her golden hair. "Do you know how to discern between a true gem and one made of glass?"_

_Giselle raises her hand and stares at me in confusion. "What are you on about, trickster?"_

_"Answer me." I press my lips against her forehead. "Please."_

_"No." She shakes her head. "In spite of being the bastard daughter of a noble, I saw precious little of his wealth, and...well...who would squander their precious gems on a half-elven monstrosity."_

_"Then I shall tell you." I whisper, remembering how I had learned the practical aspects of this particular lesson...painfully._

_"A **true** gem," I whisper as my voice trembles with emotion, "can always be known by the flaw at its center. True beauty can only be molded through great adversity, great pressure and the fires of a thousand hells. Perfection is born through imperfection. That you subverted your instinct and your hatred, that you denied your will, that you fought that battle and emerged victorious..." I pause to gather my thoughts, "...it is not an exposition of the flaw, but of the gem surrounding it. You are made all the more radiant for the trials endured. Do you understand?"_

_I tuck my finger under her chin and lift her eyes to mine. The bright green grows even brighter as tears well up and slip down her cheeks. "My beautiful rogue." She reaches out and traces the line of my cheekbone with her thumb. "You are no stranger to dark places, dark thoughts, dark times...yet within you there is such a light. I could see it from the first...you've no idea how **angry** I became that you refused to see what to me was so apparent."_

_"I had forgotten." I tell her. "I had forgotten where light resides."_

_"Then answer my question, and tell me true." Though I can see the exhausted shadows beneath her eyes, I know she will not be satisfied by anything but my honesty. "Did you fight your war alone?"_

_"No." I whisper. "No, Giselle. You wrested me from the comfort of my loneliness, jammed a sword into my hands...your voice inside my mind was strong enough to quell the doubts built up by years lost and alone. You held my shield, you took my hand...you taught me not to fear touch, for you proved it could be gentle. You taught me not to fear love, for you proved it could be kind...you proved it could be selfless."_

_"You teach me how to feel." Giselle slips her hand beneath my shirt and begins to caress my back, sending shivers through my body. "You teach me how to want. You teach me that hope can return, with faith fulfilled."_

_Her lips catch the soft skin of my neck and I gasp at the sensation as the edges of her teeth graze against my sensitive flesh. Fear and lust set my heart pounding, as I realize that she is asking with her body was she has never had, or ever before needed, the words for._

_"Prove to me, Kathyra," She entreats, her lips soft and tempting against my ear. "Prove to me that this is not a dream."_

_**Am...am I ready?** I question myself. **Can I overcome this last fear...for her sake? I do not know...I do not know...I do not know how to love, Giselle.**_

_"Tell me your desires," I say at last, attempting to face my own flaws, to pass through trial by fire, to prove to my soul a final time that beauty and healing and forgiveness did exist._

_Giselle takes my hand and rests it along the curve of her hip. "I want...I want all of me to be yours, Kathyra." She lowers her head as blood rushes to her cheeks. "Will you have me?"_


	47. The Rendering of Love

**Kathyra**

_My hand trembles as it rests against Giselle's warm skin. I feel the life thrumming beneath, blood and muscle and sinew. I tremble, for I have spoken the language of pleasure. I have brought people near heaven with a touch, and with that same touch sent them once more crashing to the earth. But that is simply the language of the body, and thus is can be easily understood. I do not...I do not know how to speak to her with my heart. To make this a holy act.  
_

_"Are you...are you certain?" The question catches against my spirit like a fisherman's hook, scraping it raw, opening the door to my personal hell, my own abyss._

_More certain of this than anything before." She answers, and in her eyes there is hope, there is pleading, there is an ache that I can feel as her muscles bunch beneath her skin._

_"Lie back." I tell her, straining to remember the skills I need, the ease with which such actions used to come to me._

_**This is different** , Giselle moves from her side and her eyes shift to me, expectant, as her teeth glide across the fullness of her lower lip. **This is a gift that is offered, not a task to be set to. There is something sweet and sacred here, and I am undeserving.**_

_Slow, gentle, meditating as I move, I rise to my knees in the bed and take Giselle's hands in my own, pulling her into a sitting position. Moonlight streams in the window and all my breath rushes from my lungs. Her eyes are guileless, innocent...passionate and beautiful. In them, I can see her soul, the same vibrant color and hue, the color of life and prosperity._

_I father my composure and lift her shirt by its hem, pulling it off with tantalizing speed. Every inch of her alabaster skin calls to me in the most ancient of tongues, a scroll written by the hands of a god whose knowledge of beauty must be fathomless. I set her shirt gently aside, moving my eyes down her body with a languid care I have never before indulged._

_**This is pure,** I realize. **There is no dark intent in my heart, no agenda hidden. Here, she trusts these bloodstained hands to heal. Here...she charges me with a task I have never been given or allowed. To hold her after the fall...rebuild what I have broken.**_

_Tears fill my eyes as I guide her back to the pillow, resting over her with a timidity I have never known. I press my lips against hers, feasting on her enthusiasm, savoring her passion, drowning in the taste of her as she gives everything she possesses into this kiss. Her lips are soft, moving in the rhythm I have set, a question and an answer all in one. Another tear falls from my eyes and lands on her cheek._

_She gasps and raises her hand to my tear on her skin, breathing slow and deep as she sees the lines of tears on my face._

_"Beautiful trickster." She breathes, reaching up and brushing back my hair. "Why do you weep?"_

_I cannot answer, cannot confide in feeble words that which thrums through my body like a maelstrom. Instead, I speak the ancient language in a cadence I have never used. I press my lips to her neck, moving along the gentle lines of muscle, feeling her pulse beat against my skin like a drum. Sweet, soft gasps echo in my hearing as I run my hand along her side, stroke by tantalizing stroke against her smooth skin._

_I continue kissing her, savoring the taste of her skin, drugged by the scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing, the cadence of her heart. She trembles where my lips touch her, and her hand reaches up and tangles in my shirt, nails digging against my flesh in a primal plea._

_I lay my lips against the skin between her breasts, feeling desire gnaw at me, attempting to turn my touch harsher, more insistent. I take a breath and slow myself, determined to give her this gift...to take her innocence and hopefully...oh, so hopefully...keep her soul intact._

_I lie on my side, stroking the tips of my fingers over the taut skin of her abdomen. Her chest rises and falls rapidly as her skin reacts along the path of my touch. Unable to torment myself, or her, any longer, I place soft kisses upon each of her breasts, eliciting a soft moan. It is not a sound of lust, or discomfort; instead, it holds a note of contentment._

_I open my lips and take her nipple into my mouth, laving the sensitive skin with my tongue, allowing the gentle pressure of my teeth to torture and tantalize. Giselle goes rigid beneath me, her breathing faster, her hand threading through my hair and tangling there, deepening our connection as her moan becomes a ragged cry._

_I lift my head, afraid of hurting her, locking our eyes, pressing the flat of my palm against her stomach, a reassuring touch._

_"Is this...is this what you want?" I ask again, determined to make this moment as perfect as I can._

_In answer, Giselle ghosts her fingers across my cheek, guiding me back to her breasts with the lightest of touches. I surrender to her desire, letting it dictate me, listening to the rhythm of her body, **listening** as I never have before. I continue taking delight in her, wondering if she realizes that the trust she places in me, in this moment, is the greatest gift I have ever received, from her hands or any other. _

_"Kathyra," My name emerges on a rasping breath. It tangles deep in my core, awakening desires I thought long-tortured out of my own body. "Kathyra, please. I need...I need..."_

_"I know." I murmur, savoring the piercing note of absolute **want** in her voice. "I know, my darling."_

_I lazily run my fingers through the soft curls at the juncture of her thighs, feeling a smile cross my face as her hips jerk and her lips part as her breathing increases to to a panting **need**. Slow, tentative, I cup her with my hand, shocked by the heat of her body, and apply a tender, delicate pressure with my fingertips, feeling my own arousal deepen as my skin grows slick with the evidence of her desire. _

_I part her folds with my fingertips, gently moving forth and back, restraining myself and luxuriating in the expression of wild abandon in her eyes._

_"Oh...gods..." She manages to breathe. "Your touch is...exquisite..."_

_Trembling, I press the tip of a single finger against her entrance, trembling, sweating with the effort of holding myself back. "Giselle," I do not recognize my own voice, low with lust and feeling and emotions deeper than any I have known. "Giselle, I...you have never been intimate with another. This...this will be painful, my darling."_

_I kiss the hollow of her throat, feeling the muscles tense as I keep up the movement of my hand._

_"It will hurt me...so much more..." She gasps, pleading, lovely, undone, "...if you cease."_

_I restrain my hand, moving my lips down her body, punctuating the journey with kisses, determined to make this as pleasurable for her as possible, to make any pain fleeting, any sorrow distant. At last, enraptured by the scent of her, torn asunder by her beautiful, trembling vulnerability, I close my mouth around her most sensitive nerves, making her mind with a strong, decisive pulse of my hand._

_Her scream rings in my ears, a mixture of pain and ecstasy, the ever-blurred line between frenzy and peace. Her fingers entangle themselves in my hair as I pleasure her with the slow swirling of my tongue, as I gentle my hand into a steady rhythm, feeling her walls tight around my fingers as she accepts a bloodstained hand in the most intimate embrace._

_Her breathing becomes ragged and her body tenses under my touch. Her wordless sighs of surprise and longing ring in my ears, sweeter than any symphony. They deepen to moans, sharper than knives that pierce through my very soul. Her taste intoxicates me as I carry her toward the edge, knowing that I carry more than just her body. She has given me her precious heart, her unstained soul, her radiant spirit. Giselle's body goes wire tight, her muscles quivering from the strain as she moves towards the edge._

_I pause, stilling within her, watching her tremble. Her hands are twisted in the sheets, clinging to them. Her breasts rise and fall with the hitching of her breath, shuddering as she exhales. Her eyes are closed, but her lips are parted, quivering as she moans against the onslaught of pleasure. There are...there are tears in her eyes._

_"Please." She begs me. "It...somehow...somehow this **hurts.** "_

_**In only the best of ways, I promise.**  
_

_On instinct, I curl my fingers upward and press my tongue against her sweet, stiffened ridge, feeling the rush of life against my hand as she dives over the edge, my name the sole word on her lips. I rise and lay alongside her, pulling her against me, keeping my hand in place within her, allowing myself the luxury of feeling the pulse of a body killed and then reborn, cradling her as she falls from heaven._

_"Thank you." She whispers after regaining the power of speech._

_My heart breaks, hearing those words, hearing their truth...knowing that I have caused her no true pain. I let my hand slide free and hold her until her body and soul accommodate the new emotions coursing through her._

_"I love you, Giselle." I whisper against her pointed ear, against the proof of her perfection. "And it is I...no. I am grateful, Giselle. So grateful."_

_**Thank you for giving me this. Thank you for letting me love you. Thank you for proving that my touch can be gentle, that I still...that I still can offer something beautiful.**_

_"Teach me." She begs. "Teach me how to speak...as you have just spoken."_

_I press my lips to her forehead. "Not now." It is not a denial of the gifts she wishes to give, but a stronger desire to give her yet **more**. "Sleep, my darling. Sleep, and I will guard your dreams."_

_"I...I'm not tired." Giselle mumbles, but a yawn belies her statement and her eyelids flutter._

_I kiss each of them and pull her tighter against me, willing her to fall asleep. When she does, my world might once again make sense to me...once again, she has remade it._


	48. Love Lives Ever On

**Kathyra**

     "Are you certain you are not yet tired of my questions?" Kestrel asked, a note of teasing in her voice. 

     Leliana pinched the bridge of her nose, but it did not seem to be a natural action. It seemed to be another's gesture, executed by her body...a learned memory from another.

     "No." She answered. "It seems to be the only thing keeping me awake."

     "You look so pale...so weary. Are you certain you will not rest awhile?" Kestrel questioned, concern evident in the narrowing of her gaze as she scrutinized Leliana. "The sun will rise soon, and you have been awake since early yesterday."

     Leliana waved a dismissive hand. "I have been through much worse, believe you me."

     Kestrel laughed, but it held a bitter edge. "I'm certain you have. However, let us speak of more pleasant things, shall we?"

     "Pleasant things..." Leliana's sentence dies. "You said you had a question. Pray inquire, and I shall answer as best I can."

     Kestrel tugged at the hem of her shirt with delicate, long-fingered hands. "How did you know it was the right moment?" She asked. "To give yourself to the one you loved...or offer yourself, as it were."

     A flash of pain entered Leliana's eyes, and I wondered if she would refuse to answer. I knew the pain that plagued her, the memories and regrets that haunted all bards possessed of a conscience. I had never told another of my time with Giselle, keeping her memory sacred, against my heart, holding to it as a lifeline, knowing that such a purity and grace did not exist anywhere else in the waking world...until now.

     _Now there is another,_ my dying mind torments me, _another who is before you, radiant and shining. One who is as you were, who fell prey to the same hand that damaged you...and all the more beautiful for it. Leliana...I do not want to love you._

     "There are two sides to that particular tale." Leliana answered at last. "The first I loved...Marjolaine...I did not give myself to her. She took me, left me breathless, feeling that I had no choice, and so willingly did I fall into her arms. It was...it was blissful, Kestrel. And, at that time, I thought that such an action was the way of love, that choice was denied, and that I had no option but to follow where she led."

     "She made the decision for you?" Kestrel pressed further.

     "Yes." Leliana answered. "Every time. Until I became hers, willing to follow every order, desperate to obey every command. I grew quite skilled, learning how to offer pleasure and the careful art of submission. I learned to give...but never to receive. Such a notion was foreign to me; I hung upon her every desire until she made me weak...until I begged for her reciprocation."

     _How...how cruel._ I squeezed my eyes shut, holding back the tears I could not afford to shed. _Marjolaine, how could you? How could you chain such a beautiful soul? How could you damage her in such a way, without remorse? How could I never find the strength to end you, sister...why did I always have to remember the beautiful child with bright eyes who looked upon me with trust and love? Why could I never hate you?_

     "Because of Marjolaine, I was unjustly accused and tried for treason in Val Royeaux." Leliana whispered, continuing the tale. "The courts sent me to the dungeons and had me tortured for a fortnight. With help, I was able to make my escape...but not before they broke me, body and soul. I thought myself ruined; unfit for any kind touch. I knew myself to be without worth."

     "And Salem?" Kestrel asked, her eyes falling to Rylie's pallid countenance. "Was it the same tale retold?"

     "Heavens, hells, and angels." Leliana laughed, without bitterness, without sorrow. "No. No. Salem is...another creature entirely. Kestrel...why, pray, are you asking me this?"

     "Because," The templar private smiled down at Rylie, and even her exhaustion could not dim the glimmer in her eyes, "I love her. But, I am afraid...for I know that, soon, I must break my silent. Rylie is...she is many things, Leliana, but I fear," Kestrel's eyes traced the injury beneath Rylie's blood-soaked bandage, "I fear this will change her. She is pure and unscathed and now...now this scar."

     "I see." Leliana's eyes welled with tears, but she did not let them fall. "When I met Salem, my heart was afraid," She continued the tale, knowing now the reason she told it. "Afraid because I could feel what lay between us, though we did not speak of it for quite some time. I kept my secrets close to me, afraid to reveal them, afraid that someone so noble and strong would revile me for having been the woman I was. But time and love wait for no man...yet, I could not reconcile with my fears. I needed to give her something, anything, and I was more willing to trust her with my body than my heart."

     "Was it...was it frightening? Painful?" Kestrel questioned. "Did she take what you offered?"

     "Yes and no." Leliana shook her head, her eyes walking backwards through time. "I went to her one night, terrified and ashamed. Somehow, she knew. She knew what I was doing...what would happen. I removed my clothes, I spoke to her of my insecurities. She saw my scars, she looked into my eyes...then she took me into her arms and ran her hands over my skin. I have never felt such...such reverence. I trembled and I _wanted_ her. For the first time in years, I _wanted_ to feel again. I kissed her and begged her to take me, to fulfill me, as I had so often pleaded with Marjolaine."

     Kestrel meditated over what Leliana relayed as the former bard halted and wiped tears from her eyes. I wanted to reach out, to comfort Leliana, to tell her that I understood all too well the worthlessness, the damage of body and soul, the pain of rejection.

     "What did she do?" Kestrel grasped Rylie's hand and squeezed it, but I could see that Kestrel herself did not know she did so.

     "I was afraid that she would accept my offer, but I knew she wanted me. I believed she would relent; that someone as powerful and willful as Salem Cousland would take what I offered. I was afraid to be touched so intimately, but I had no doubts as to her gentility, and I did not fear her causing me pain. What I did not expect...was that she would deny me."

     "She turned you away?" Kestrel wondered, confusion creasing her brow.

     "No." Leliana shook her head. "She...she thanked me, thanked me for revealing what I had, for giving her that measure of trust, even though it was so much less than she was offering me. And then, she pulled me close to her and whispered, 'Tonight, I will just love you.' I slept beside her that night, safe and sheltered in her arms, touched by hands that were content to hold me...and take nothing. She proved to me, that night, that she would accept nothing less than what she was offering to me...but that she would not take anything I could not freely give. For the first time...the choice was mine."

     "That is...that is beautiful." Kestrel spoke, and I wholeheartedly agreed.

     _Is it possible, Giselle,_ I spoke to the phantom in my spirit, _is it possible that there are others in this world capable of your manner of love? Why were Leliana and I chosen for this blessing? And why am I not to die after seeing that such a love, powerful and pure, still exists? Why am I to perish just as hope is reawakened?_

     "She made all things beautiful again." Leliana mused. "Including me. When, at last, I could give her my heart," more tears fell from Leliana's eyes, "I was still terrified. Even love in all its majesty could not keep me from trembling when she first touched me. I fell into my old patterns and went to my knees before her, as Marjolaine liked to see me..." Leliana shook her head. "You do not wish to hear this."

     "No." Kestrel whispered, placing her hand on Leliana's knee. "I do."

     Leliana closed her eyes, and continued. "I placed my mouth on her, and she ordered me to stop. I began shaking; I was so afraid...worried I had done something wrong. I prepared to be punished...but she knelt before me, framed my face with her gentle, strong hands, and kissed me. She promised me that she would not hurt me...that she wanted...that she wanted to _love_ me. I _knew_ what it was to be pleasured, Kestrel." Leliana whispered, a note of reverence in her voice. "To be brought to the heights of ecstasy, to be left spent and shuddering, replete with bliss. I never knew, Kestrel, until that night, what it was to be _loved_. To be..." her voice cracked, "...to be _worshiped._ Salem Cousland wanted...wanted nothing. But me. If love is present, Kestrel, then every moment is right. Every moment is perfect."

     _I know,_ the black of unconsciousness crept up on me once more and I surrendered to it. I surrendered to the sweetest memory...of when I had been healed... _not just in body...but also in soul._


	49. Fear and Cruelty

**Kathyra**

_I wake to the sun kissing my face, to bright green eyes fixed on my own, a gentle smile playing over Giselle's full lips.  
_

_"Good morning, my darling." She whispers, her hand reaching out to move my tangled hair away from my face._

_Remembering last night, I greet the morning, and the woman I love, with a smile. "How are you feeling?" I ask, seeing still the memories of ghosts in her eyes; the pain that she had begged me to spare her from yesternight._

_"Awake as I have never been." She answers. "Alive as I have never known...and a touch sore."_

_"It is to be expected, but...I am sorry." I apologize._

_"Do not **ever** regret what you have done for me, Kathyra." Giselle speaks in the tone I know well, with the notes of iron resolve in her voice building a fortress around my heart, not where I hide, or cower, but where I find peace and security and shelter. "It is simply the way of these things, is it not?"_

_"Sometimes."_

_"And there rises the shield wall." Giselle shakes her head and smiles at me. "Have I said something wrong? Done something...pushed you too far?"_

_"No." I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, uncertain if I can bear the questions in her eyes; the pain in the trembling of her lips. "No, Giselle. I am...I am caught and torn betwixt and between."_

_Giselle moves across the bed and pillows her head on my breast, wrapping her arm about my waist, anchoring me in a world where all is well, a world I have fought for and found myself triumphant in._

_"What has you snared, trickster?" She asks._

_I sigh, knowing that she could trust her intuition to guide her to my answer, and be nothing but correct...and yet she wants my words, my confession spoken from my lips, not hers._

_"I am afraid." I reply, reaching up and tangling my hand in the luxurious tresses of her golden hair. "Last night...I was terrified."_

_"I would not have known it but for your admittance." She gives me grace and my heart hurts further as I realize that I do not have the courage to ask for what I want from her...that I am too damaged still to allow her where she has every right to go. Where, if I am honest, I desire her to venture._

_"I wish I had something pure to give you, Giselle." I say at last, feeling my words catch and snarl around me, leaving me confused and tongue-tied and full of regret._

_"How differently we see the world." Giselle muses. "For what you gave to me last night...there was nothing impure there. I felt so warm, so wanted...I felt **loved** , Kathyra. For the first time in my life, I felt desirable. Your touch...it still resonates within me. I feel you still, all around me, a salve on my injured spirit. All I want is to be able to return that gift, to make you feel loved...to touch you...intimately."_

_My breath catches in my throat and I tense beneath her touch. "I do not know how to accept that gift, Giselle." I confide. "I have...no one...the body carries memories. Memories of injuries, memories of damage done. If you...if you touch me, I will remember the pain. I will remember the fear. I will remember my soul being stripped, my innocence raped...my heart torn to shreds."_

_She lifts her eyes to mine and they well up with sorrow._

_"I cannot do that to you, Giselle." I tell her. "I love you too much to let you see...to let you see that pain. You deserve someone who can feel joy from your touch, crave your caress, give themselves over to you completely. Someone who is not frightened by the dark, someone who will move towards you in an intimate embrace...not one who walks away because of... **fear**."_

_"Is this a wound I cannot aid you in healing?" She asks, her voice not unkind, not accusatory._

_"I..." I turn my face away, "...I do not know. It...it is not you I fear, Giselle. I simply do not wish to cause you pain. You deserve better from the one you love."_

_"Will you allow me to try, Kathyra?" She presses, lifting herself and ghosting her lips across my cheek._

_I meet her gaze, allowing her to see my fear, to see the hurt, broken woman who had never been given the choice. The woman who had been stolen from, devoured by a darker world, corrupted by another's evil and damaged beyond repair._

_"I have no wish to hurt you." I breathe._

_"You will not." She assures me. "I love you, trickster. I asked you once if you would allow me into your fears, and I meant it. Will you..."_

_"I don't want you to see." I close my eyes as the tears begin, as my worst nightmares assert themselves into the waking world. "Not this."_

_**I wanted...I wanted to give her something wonderful, and yet the darkness in me refuses to relent. I cannot un-live the memories. I cannot forget what was done to me...and I cannot...I cannot find it within myself the strength to let go. I cannot find the strength to trust her as she trusted me.**_

_Gentle, she presses her lips to my quivering eyelids. "I see already, Kathyra." She whispers. "I am bearing witness to your pain, and I know...I know if you will allow it, I can..."_

_"You **cannot** heal this, Giselle." I give into despair. "You cannot undo what has been done. I'm sorry, my love, I am too damaged..."_

_"No." Her fingertips caress my face and for the first time in months, I flinch. "Kathyra, please, let me..."_

_"I won't see you injured fighting a battle that cannot be won." I tell her, rising and swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, turning my back to her. "You're too damn beautiful, Giselle. Too damn beautiful to throw your life and your heart away for someone like me, who cannot even accept affection, who cannot..."_

_"Kathyra, you're shaking." I can feel her hand hovering above my shoulder, a respect for the barriers I have set back in place. "What can..."_

_"Nothing." I sink further into my abyss. "You can do nothing. This is...this is one battle I do not have the strength to fight. You should have listened to me, Giselle."_

_"I **am** listening, you stubborn fool." Giselle's voice becomes heated. "And not to your words, because you are **lying** , to me and yourself. I am listening to a heart that wants a home. A heart that forsook its fear and gave to me, something so **precious** and **beautiful** I tremble still from the force of it! Gods damn it, Kathyra, why won't you even let me **try**!?"_

_"Because you will fail." I tell her, standing, fully clothed, as I had been last night. "As I have failed you."_

_"You cannot decide for me the battles I choose!" Giselle stands, pulling the sheet from the bed and covering herself with it. "You gave me heaven, Kathyra. Every dream substantiated, every wish and want fulfilled. Why then do you choose hell for yourself?"_

_"It was chosen **for me**!" I raise my voice, speaking louder than I want, almost screaming at her. "And you should not have to descend there to drag me out!"_

_"I fucking **want** to!" Her volume matches mine. _

_"I do not care!" I shout, lowering my voice as I see the fear in her eyes. Fear of the woman whose presence she has ignored...the murderer, the thief...the trickster. I reach out and cup her cheek...my hand trembles uncontrollably. "Do not fight for me, Giselle. Take what I can give you, but please...please do not ask this of me. I_ _**can't**."_

_Tears fill her eyes and spill over, even as she turns into my caress and presses my hand against her. "You are cruel, Kathyra."_

_"Yes." My voice trembles, but I cannot lie, not to her. "I am."_


	50. Love in All Its Majesty

**Kathyra**

_An uneasy silence hangs over the house. It has not moved for a month, not since that night. I sit in the clinic, preparing herbs to be hung and dried, watching Giselle from the corner of my eye. I wish she could be cold to me. It is what I deserve, after turning my back on her. It would...feel right. I have borne the pain of rejection before. I have carried the weight of another's hatred.  
_

_**But she does not cease loving me,** I lose focus on my task and stare at her, wondering how she can still bear to remain by my side. **She does not hesitate tot ouch me, to brush her lips against my cheek. Even though I have fled from her...though we no longer share a bed...she still pursues me.**_

_I shudder in the silence, knowing it is the burden I have forced upon us, knowing that the fault is mine. At night, I agonize, remembering her warmth alongside mine. I dream of her hands...but the dreams fade to nightmares of a crueler touch, a harsher touch, a brutality that has no other name but evil._

_Giselle feels my eyes on her and turns, offering me a soft smile. She has remained unchanged, speaking to me as she always has, but in her touch there lies an undercurrent of regret and ferocity, as though she can **will** me to change. I wonder if, once again, she sees in me a strength I do not believe I possess. A strength to rise above the horrors of my past. _

_"You have riddles in your eyes again, my love." She tilts her head and the sun shining through the window gleams off of her hair. "Would you care to enlighten an inquiring mind?"_

_I stare down at the bundles of herbs and sigh. "I keep feeling as though I should offer my regrets." I admit, idly running my fingers through the leaves of fragrant lavender. "As if I have words to somehow set things aright."_

_"Kathyra," Giselle places her hand over my restless one, stilling it, "I do not know how to convince you that nothing you have done, even leaving our bed, requires regret. It also does not require the myriad apologetics, which are all you can seem to offer me lately. You are still wounded," She rests her hand over my heart, " **here**. It is a wound I cannot see, and it is the unseen wounds that take the longest to heal. I did not abandon you when I found you in that alley, closer to death than life, and I will not abandon you now."_

_"I just do not see...I do not see how you believe you can help me." I admit, feeling my chest cave in as I speak before thinking, tell her that she is a failure, that she and her freely given love are not enough to bring me out of my darkness._

_"I cannot help you, Kathyra." Giselle answers and I lift my eyes to hers, shocked._

_"But...you said..."_

_"I cannot heal you." She shakes her head. "I do not have that power, nor that ability. I do not, but **love does, **my darling. I will never ask you to trust me, because I am mortal, and flawed, and damaged in my own right. I ask you to trust the love in my heart...as I trust the love in yours."_

_Her words pierce my soul and I lock my eyes with hers, still lacking understanding, needing definition. I open my lips to inquire further when the door bursts open. A young elven man, soaked with sweat, staggers into the room, carrying a woman heavy with child. Blood stains her robes and spatters onto the floor._

_"Are you Giselle?" He asks, eyes flaring from me to my physician, fear entering them as he sees that I am human._

_"I am." Giselle rushes forward and leads the man to a bed, helping him situate the woman. Giselle props her up with pillows and looks to me. "Kathyra, boiling water and towels." She orders, examining her patient's pupils and helping make her as comfortable as possible._

_The cry of a woman in labor echoes through the main room as I go to the kitchen and light a fire beneath the pot we always keep filled. I grab a pile of towels and hurry into the main room, listening to the man speak._

_"I am Matthias." He introduces himself as he knees beside the woman and takes her hand. "This is my wife, Areya."_

_"How long has she been in labor?" Giselle asks, running her hands over Areya's womb, feeling the contractions, counting silently to measure the time between them._

_"Since last morning." Matthias offers his wife an encouraging smile. "The alienage midwife has been called away. Her apprentice came to help but...but something is wrong, something beyond her ken. The alienage Elder spoke highly of you...he said you would help us..."_

_"And so I shall." Giselle states, her lips pursed in a thin line._

_Gently, she spreads Areya's thighs and examines her. The scent of blood fills the room and Areya screams as her body is wracked by another contraction. Matthias pales as his wife squeezes his hand until her knuckles are white. Her pain is excruciatingly visible, as is her exhaustion. I know all too well the expression of a person on the verge of collapse, and she is there, hovering on the razor's edge._

_Giselle beckons me and I kneel beside her, my eyes widening at the amount of blood staining her skin and soaking her dress and sheets._

_"There's too much blood," Giselle whispers to me so that Matthias cannot hear. "But she's fully dilated...and in labor since yesterday? The baby should be here already."_

_"The midwife's aide assured us that the baby was...was in the proper place." Matthias' voice grows desperate, his eyes burning with love as he gently wipes sweat from Areya's brow. "Please help her." He whispers. "She's so tired...she's in so much pain."_

_"Keep strong, little one." Giselle speaks to the unborn child, the new life soon to enter this world. "Kathyra, I need a tincture of blue chohosh and trillium. Also, the salve with valerian root."_

_I dash to the shelves as Giselle continues her examination, followed by the sound of Areya's shrieks of agony. I wince at the pain in her cries, trembling at the thought of bringing a child into this world. I find the tincture Giselle requires and return to her. My physician stands and wipes her bloody hands on her shirt. She uncorks the vial and smells the contents, nodding to me._

_"Have her drink it." She orders, turning to Matthias and handing him the salve. "The herbs will ease her pain and speed her labor. This salve will ease the tension in her back. Rub it into her skin, but be gentle. She is highly sensitive."_

_"What...what's wrong?" The young man's voice trembles._

_"I'll tell you when I know." She tells him. "But do not be afraid, Matthias. Help your wife, and I will help your child."_

_The serenity shining from her stuns me, and I fall in love with her again, with her strength, her passion, and her gift for healing. I sit beside Areya, wrapping my arm around her shoulders to support her._

_"Drink." I lift the vial to her lips, attempting to sound encouraging, for she is beyond her last reserves of strength. I also know that she fears me...for I am human. I am those who hurt her people._

_Her wide, terrified eyes flash to her husband, who nods in encouragement. "Please, love." He begs her. "The Elder said we would come to harm here. We have to...we have to trust them. Please, I can't bear to see you hurting so badly."_

_Areya's brow creases in pain, but she accepts the draught. I help keep her in a seated position as Matthias begins to rub the salve into the taut, beleaguered muscles of her back. She relaxes in my arms, but I know it is not the medicine helping her, yet. It is the touch of the man she loves, the man she trusts...the man whose child she is trying so desperately to bring into the world._

_Areya stiffens, her eyes widen, and her breath emerges in panting moans. Her pain slices through me like a knife._

_"The herbs are working, Areya." Giselle consoles her. "It will be more painful than before, but your labor will be hastened."_

_"Blessed...Creators..." Areya gasps, her plea to the gods dissolving into a prolonged scream of anguish. She pitches forward and Matthias and I support her, allowing her to grip us and prop herself up. Her nails rip my skin and I grit my teeth, letting her make me bleed._

_Giselle runs her hands over the woman's womb, applying pressure, feeling the ripples of her contractions, assessing, diagnosing, finding the heart of the problem and looking up, a triumphant expression on her face._

_"Your child's head is turned." She speaks to Matthias. "But that is all right. It is something I can help." She rises and leaves the room, running for the kitchens._

_Giselle re-enters the kitchen, carrying the steaming kettle of water. She hastily washes her hands, ignoring the heat. She tosses her hair aside, revealing the tip of a pointed ear, and my heart beats faster in my chest with the memory of running my lips along its perfect edge, hearing the sounds of pleasure my touch elicited._

_"Kathyra, keep her still." She commands, looking into the young woman's frantic eyes. "Areya, can you hear me?"_

_The beyond-exhausted woman nods and bites her lip as another contraction takes hold._

_"Good." Giselle smiles, purity, light, ferocity. "Your baby is strong, but very stubborn. I am going to have to offer some encouragement. This will hurt, but I want you to breathe through it and try not to push until I tell you to. Can you do that for me?"_

_Areya nods again, too exhausted and in pain to speak. I hold her secure against my body as Giselle kneels between her legs. Gentle, but sure, Giselle inserts her hand and Areya screams at the new intrusion, shaking as she attempts to control the wishes of her body. Tears gleam in Matthias' eyes as he watches, helpless to do anything to ease his wife's pain._

_"Come now, little one." Giselle speaks to the unborn child. "There is a bright new world awaiting you. No time to be shy."_

_The moment seems to take forever, but, at last, Giselle smiles and withdraws her hand and arm, covered from fingertip to elbow in blood._

_"Push, Areya." She encourages, not minding the mess and the gore and the tension thickening the air._

_The young mother in my arms seems to go limp, but there is such determination in her eyes that it breaks my heart. Her body strains with the effort and she screams in agony, but Giselle is smiling._

_"Soon, Areya, very soon, and you will be able to greet your child." She promises. "Push again, once more."_

_"Can't." Areya gasps._

_"Yes, you can." Giselle speaks, and there is steel in her voice, but also hope, and promise. "Once more, and that is all."_

_Areya pushes herself against my support, grits her teeth, and forces her body to its limits. Giselle smiles and reaches between the woman's legs, drawing forth a newborn girl. New screams wrack the air, but not screams of pain...those of life, from an infant's bawling lungs._

_I relinquish Areya into Matthias' waiting arms and kneel beside Giselle, unfolding a soft blanket. She places the baby in my arms and I am in awe of the newness and perfection. Fragile, perfect hands are balled into resistant fists as she cries in my arms. I run a finger along the points of her tiny ears, enamored by the sight of her. Giselle pulls a sharp blade from her belt and cuts the cord that tethers mother to child, then soaks a cloth in the now tepid water, and begins to wash the blood and slime from the baby's face._

_"Here," she reaches out and takes the babe from me, settling her into Areya's arms, against her breast. Welcome to the world, little one."_

_Areya sags back against the pillows, utterly spent, but the expression on her face is one of absolute joy, a joy I cannot understand, given the pain I witnessed not moments ago. Matthias stares at his wife and child, struck dumb and in awe as he witnesses the creation of their union._

_"She...she's so beautiful." He gasps._

_"Kathyra," Giselle tears my eyes from the heart-warming, awe-inspiring tableau. "I need leaves of shepherd's purse, now, and the bilberry and burdock root potion. Now."_

_**All of those are...Maker's breath...shepherd's purse stops bleeding, and the potion is exceedingly useful for treating blood loss. Areya is not yet through this trial.** _

_""What?" Matthias asks, looking from his wife to Giselle in worry as I gather the herbs. "Is everything all right? Is something wrong?"_

_Giselle smiles, an expression that can calm even the most frantic heart. "She was in labor for quite some time, Matthias. The strain on her body is causing her to bleed more than I would like. There is nothing to worry over, though, I promise you." She kneels once more. "Take care of your child, Matthias. Areya needs to rest now."_

_I kneel beside Giselle and hand her the herbs, my eyes widening when I look at Areya's body. The afterbirth is already present; there is a tear in her body, and she is bleeding badly. Giselle quickly wraps the herbs in bandaging, making a poultice, and presses it against the tear. Areya shifts and moans, her body enduring more pain than she can probably bear._

_"Needle and silk." Giselle whispers, and I rise to fetch what she needs._

_I watch Matthias lift his daughter in his arms and cradles her against his chest. He whispers soft words to her, then falls silent, staring in awe as she opens her eyes. I fetch our stitching needles and the silk, returning to Giselle. I look on in awe as my physician cleans away the blood with care and reverence, then stitches the tear in Aerya's body. She finishes and turns to me with a weary smile._

_"Kathyra," She speaks in an exhausted whisper, wiping sweat from her brow and leaving a bloody streak, making her look like a feral elven warrior of ancient tales. "Will you take her to a clean bed, and make her drink the potion?" She looks to Matthias and addresses him. "Your wife has undergone a difficult labor. You are more than welcome to remain here for the time she will need to recover, as it will be some time before she is well enough to travel any distance."_

_"Bless you, madame physician." Matthias speaks, gratitude evident in his voice._

_I move to the side of the bed and cut away the woman's soiled robes, freeing her from the dirt, grime, and blood. I cradle the all-but unconscious woman in my arms. I lift her and carry her to another of the clinic beds. Matthias pulls back the covers and I set her down, covering her with the blankets as Giselle busies herself stripping the soiled sheets from the bed and cleaning away the afterbirth._

_"Please start a fire." She speaks, barely above a whisper, nodding towards the hearth in the main room. "She needs to be kept warm."_

_I nod, lifting Areya's head and pouring the potion through her slack lips, smiling as she swallows. Then I obey Giselle's request, still reeling from the sacredness of what I have witnessed. Never before have I seen a child brought into the world, and the emotions coursing through me are unfamiliar. Hope. Peace. An overwhelming sense that all is somehow **right** with the world. _

_I kindle the flames, smiling as they burn higher and brighter, infusing the room with warmth. Matthias sits beside his wife, cradling his daughter in one arm and stroking Areya's hair with his free hand. I walk to the kitchen and wash my hands, smiling at Giselle as she joins me._

_I take a cloth and soak it, then gently clean the dried blood from my physician's forehead. She smiles at me, for this is the first time I have freely offered her my touch in a month's time. We stand in the doorway, side by side, watching the new family._

_Tears run down Matthias' cheeks and I read the language of his body, finding myself shaken by what is revealed. As ever I have done, I look to Giselle for answers._

_"Those are not tears of joy." I tell her._

_"No." She agrees. "They are not."_

_"Why...why the sorrow?"_

_"Because his daughter will know his life." She whispers. "She has been brought into this world a slave, with no hope of freedom and no hope of escape. All elven men weep for their daughters and sons, Kathyra...there is so little hope to offer them."_

_My heart grieves but questions still gnaw at me, begging to be asked, **needing** to be answered. "Then why..." I wave my hand in an abstract gesture, "...why do...why have...why this?"_

_Giselle smiles and reaches out, threading her hand through mine. "Love, Kathyra." She answers. "It is love that creates. It is love that hopes for a brighter future. Even in the darkness, love perseveres. Look at Matthias and Areya...see their love made manifest, see their child. She will grow up with the strength to face life and all of its myriad trials and difficulties...for she is born of love and made of love."_

_There are tears in my eyes now, tears from the thoughts that linger just beyond my reach. But I want to take hold of them. I want to understand...I want to know of what Giselle speaks, even if comprehension has not yet come._

_"I have...I have much to think about." I whisper._

_Giselle squeezes my hand, imparting strength and caring...and **love**. "Take all of the time you need, my darling. Take all of the time you need."_


	51. Feeble, Faltering Steps

**Kathyra**

_"I cannot thank you enough for all that you have done for us." Matthias smiles, running his hand through his daughter's downy blonde hair. "Had you not been here for us..." His words falter and I know he is thinking through the past days, the frenetic worry as Areya's health declined before she at last began to regain her strength.  
_

_"It was my pleasure." Giselle smiles and places a kiss on the baby's forehead. "Dream high, little one." She whispers. "All the stars are yours."_

_Areya smiles and wraps an arm around her husband for support. She is still pale and tired, but well enough to continue recuperating in the comfort of her home. "Thank you, for everything." She smiles at me, shy. "I had...no notion that humans could be so...kind."_

_"Go in good health." I say, feeling at a loss for words._

_The two and their beautiful child have remained with us for the last fortnight. I will miss them, and I fear for the child. Giselle's statement has haunted me, the thoughts of being born into slavery eating away at the dark place in my heart, causing me grief that I do not understand, for all this child seems to bring is joy._

_"Have you settled on a name?" Giselle inquires, holding out a packet of herbs to Areya, medicines that will hep her regain her strength and health._

_"Yes." Areya smiles and looks down at her baby, her eyes shining with love. "Her name is Gisyra, after the two women who brought her into this world."_

_My physician's eyes line with tears, and my jaw drops with shock. I have lived a life in ignominy, in shadows, being the sort of woman that mothers warn their children to stray from, and fear them becoming...I am not a woman to name a child after._

_"Take care of yourselves." Giselle orders them. "I will visit in a fortnight to see how the both of you are doing, if you do not mind."_

_"Matthias nods. "We would be grateful."_

_He guides his wife over the threshold and we watch them return to the alienage, to the difficulty of their lives. Giselle smiles, but there is a hint of sorrow within it._

_"I will miss that child." She whispers._

_I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her back against me, offering what little comfort I can. "Do you desire a child of your own, Giselle?"_

_"Yes." She answers. "But no. Any child of mine would be of mixed blood and...given my life...I would not afflict my offspring with such a curse."_

_"I am sorry." I pull her tighter, hearing what she does not say, the echoes of loneliness in her heart that linger still. "And it is a shame. I can imagine no finer mother."_

_"My mother was a wonderful woman." Giselle speaks of her past. "Caring. Kind. Subtle, as I have never learned to be. I am afraid I inherited her healer's heart and my father's sharp tongue. At times it is the most difficult of combinations. Forgive me, Kathyra, if my directness has ever hurt you."_

_"You need apologize for nothing." I feel guilty, for I do not deserve her kindness. I have denied her the sole thing that she desires, and still she finds it within herself to treat me with tenderness. "You have forced my eyes open, made me witness unpleasant truths, delve into dark thoughts...but only for my benefit."_

_"Or perhaps mine." She shakes her head. "I am afraid that my love is selfish, Kathyra. I keep worrying that I have pushed you too hard or too far, that I have broken something and cannot now repair it."_

_"No." I tell her. "No. I was broken long before this."_

_"There are so many questions I want to ask you...but I am afraid that you would only pull further away from me. This distance between us, Kathyra, it...it is killing me. Ancient gods, there are times I just want to shake you and force from you the answers I desire, but I...I love you too much. But I **miss** you in equal measure. What can I do, Kathyra?" She asks. "I cannot stop wanting you, and I cannot stop loving you, but it seems you would have me walk away and I **cannot! Help** me, Kathyra! Tell me what you **want!** "_

_I bite my lip, struggling to find a response. "I want...I want to not be trapped in this body. I want these memories vanquished. I want what I cannot have, Giselle. I want my innocence back."_

_She sighs, seeming defeated. "I cannot give you that."_

_"No one can." I whisper, scrambling to find a way to alleviate her guilt. "How you have remained so understanding is beyond me, Giselle."_

_"Well, it is beyond me too, so it must be the madness of love itself." She laughs and shakes her head. With a tentative hand, she reaches out and caresses my cheek. "I miss you, trickster. I miss your heart. I miss your arms around me when we sleep. Forgive me my selfishness. Forgive me for wanting what you cannot offer."_

_"I love you for wanting it." My honesty frightens me. "Maker's blood, that makes no sense."_

_"And yet I understand." Her eyes are shining, and I drown in them. "But, somehow, I feel guilty. I opened a door you could not walk through. Somehow, I've left you behind, and such a thing was never my intention."_

_"I am always left behind, Giselle." I tell her. "It's all right."_

_"It bloody well is not!" She exclaims, but there is no anger in her voice. "Have you any comprehension of my **grief** for you? Born into freedom and forced into slavery!? It...it makes me weep."_

_"Those in slavery have more hope than I do." I shake my head, thinking of Areya, Matthias, and little Gisyra. "Hope enough to bring beauty and innocence in the world."_

_"And how my heart **burns** against those who stole yours from you." Giselle shudders, remembering the memories of my pain, etched into my body and soul. "But what good is fire if it cannot warm of purify?" She slumps down on the edge of a bed and buries her head in her hands, looking so forlorn and hopeless that my heart cracks anew. _

_I sit beside her and take her hand. "It serves as a light to guide the lost."_

_"But it cannot move. Not even towards the one who needs it most." Giselle rests her head on my shoulder. "Will you find your way back to me, Kathyra?"_

_**Fires die. They go dark, lack of fuel, lack of air...this is killing her. But how can I open this heart full of pain? How can I inflict my tragedies on her, place such a burden on her shoulders? Which is more cruel...to open my heart and soul, or to let the fire that freed me from darkness die out?**_

_"I will try." I promise her, terrified of losing the one radiant star in my night sky. If there were those strong enough to bring an unsullied soul into the world, knowing its pain, knowing its darkness, then perhaps I could find the strength to take one step towards the light. "You told me you had questions."_

_"I do." She nods. "A physician's questions...and a lover's. If I ask them, will you answer?"_

_"As much as I am able." I give her all that I can, dreading her next words even though I know I need them._

_Giselle sits upright and looks me in the eye. "How were you hurt, Kathyra? No," She raises a hand, forestalling me, "I do not want the explicit physical details. I have...I have treated victims of what you endured. I know of the physical damage. Tell me how your soul was hurt."_

_I struggle, thinking of how to preface this, of how to lay bare my soul. "When I...when you...when we...made love...what did you feel?"_

_A shy smile flits across her lips and her cheeks flush to a dusky rose. "Cherished." Her voice is low. "Cared for. Worthy, Kathyra, and so, so loved."_

_I nod, unwilling to acknowledge how my heart leapt at her words. "I have...I have never made love, Giselle. I have..." the tears come to my eyes, unbidden, the blood of my spirit as the wounds there tear open afresh. "...I was used. And those who used me took their pleasure and released...they released their darkness, their anger, their cruelty...flooding me with it. An act so intimate, where love is meant to be given and received...it left me hollow, and when I struggled to find something to fill the void left inside, all I could find was fear. Fear that if I ever opened myself in such a way, that I would find nothing and be worthy of nothing but the evil in men's hearts."_

_"Was it only men who harmed you this way?" She asks._

_"No." I wipe tears from my eyes. "No. Women as well."_

_"Are you afraid that you will find the same things from me, Kathyra?" Giselle begs me for the truth. "That I will use you for my own ends, leave you hollow and full of fear?"_

_"No." I assure her. "But I am afraid...that if I open myself to you...that you will find their evil still there...and that it will hurt you and make you...make you leave."_

_She rests her hand on my thigh. "Thank you, Kathyra." She tells me._

_"You have...you have nothing more to ask?" I wonder, feeling in awe of the lightness left behind by these simple confessions._

_"I have answers now." She replies, confidence gleaming in her heavenly eyes. "When you find it within yourself to want them, you know where I will be."_

_She rises and I take her hand, baffled. "Where are you going?"_

_"To give you time to think." She answers, turning to look at me. "I love you, Kathyra."_

_"I...I love you too."_

_"Beautiful bard." She tucks my hair behind my ear and presses her lips to my forehead. "We will make it through this, I promise you."_

_She turns and leaves the house, granting me a time in peace, alone with my thoughts. Smiling, I stare at the door. "I believe you, Giselle. I believe."_


	52. Confidences in the Quiet

**Kathyra**

_I rest on one of the small beds in the clinic, staring at the moon in the sky, tossing and turning, unable to find a comfortable position. Sleep is elusive and my skin feels hot and tight, as though it no longer belongs to me, as though a stranger's heart beats within its shell._

_**I have answers now,** Giselle's words from this morning whisper against my ears, tormenting, tantalizing. **How,** I wonder, **how is it that she has answers when I have sought for them endlessly and discovered nothing? Has love opened your eyes in ways it leaves me blind, Giselle?**_

_I rise from the bed and begin pacing back and forth beneath the moon, fingers clenching and unclenching, my gut twisting and tightening against my will, wondering...wondering...questioning myself and finding **nothing!** At last, weary of the world and weary of myself, and my endless inquiries that have nothing at their end, I find my way up the stairs. I climb them, hoping that some form of resolve awaits me at the end. _

_Giselle sits on what once was our bed, combing her hair. Firelight gleams off of the luxurious golden strands and I stand in the doorway, arrested by the sight. The delicacy of her fingers, the shadows as they play over her alabaster skin. Her eyes gleam in the dark of night, another marker of her elven heritage, something I have always found beautiful._

_"Gi...Giselle?" My voices catches in my throat, but she turns to me, and there is a smile on her lips and prayers in her eyes._

_"Come here, my love." She gestures to the area beside her and I move forward like a woman possessed, unable to control my own body._

_"I...I want...I want answers, Giselle." I tell her, sitting beside her, feeling her warmth next to mine. "Can you...will you help me? Please."_

_"Of course." I hear the hope in her voice and it catches around my heart, pulling it tight into a warm embrace._

_She rises and stands in front of me, illuminated by the glow of the flames. Without hesitation, she lifts her nightgown and shrugs it off of her body, leaving me breathless as I gaze upon the landscape of her beauty, the delicacy of her structure, the depth of her curves._

_"Giselle...what are..."_

_"Hush, love." She stands before me and presses a finger against my lips, kneeling down and looking me in the eye. "This is my gift to you, Kathyra. Look at me, see that I am vulnerable, see that I am yours. This time is yours; I am yours to command. Do you understand, my darling?"_

_"I..." I gasp as her fingertips brush my cheek. "I...I think so."_

_"May I see you, Kathyra?" She asks, relinquishing all control into my hands, asking instead of demanding, allowing her every action to be dictated by my wishes. "You are so beautiful, trickster. Please, let me see you."_

_"Do you truly," I struggle for breath, for words, for understanding, "do you truly find me beautiful?"_

_"Yes." She smiles. "From the moment I saw you."_

_"Even after...everything?"_

_"Even so." She answers, keeping her hands by her side, allowing me something I have never before known. She is giving me full authority, with no expectations, no demands...and no fears. She is unafraid of me, of what I might do, of who I might be._

_Ill at ease, hesitant, I pull my shirt over my head and set it aside on the floor, covering myself with my arms, feeling somehow foolish. I know that she has seen all of me before, naked, bared, and bleeding, but on this night it is different. There are things between us that were not there in those times._

_Giselle sits behind me and I feel her nearness, her warmth, both in body and in spirit. She leans in close. "May I touch you, Kathyra?" She asks._

_"Please, be gentle." I beg, feeling myself begin to shake._

_"Tell me if this becomes too much." She offers me once again the beautiful chance to cease, to escape, somehow knowing that allowing me my freedom in this will only endear her to me all the more. It will only push me forward into her arms._

_Tender, she feathers her fingers across my back, sending shivers down my spine and ice into my veins. I tremble as she brushes her skin against mine, lightly pressing her lips upon the back of my neck, stopping as her hands detect an irregularity in my flesh, small strands of stippled scar tissue, inflicted so long ago they can scarcely be seen. But they can always be felt...always._

_"What happened here?" She whispers. "Can you tell me?"_

_The shame and pain of the memory overwhelms me and I shudder visibly. "A...a wealthy...very wealthy...Orlesian merchant worked as a fence and information broker. When Leron began...he incurred a great deal of debt to her. He owed her many favors and she...she took a liking to me. She had a...a fetish. She loved subservience. Chains. Whips. And a taste for blood that saw her sucking at the wounds she made in my body with a depraved lust."_

_"Heavens, hells, and angels." Giselle rests her head against my back, the silk of her hair feeling heavenly and warm, like a blanket of starlight._

_"I was currency, Giselle." I breathe, basking in her touch as it comforts me, instead of torments. "I was bartered with and sold and sent home bleeding, bitten, and bruised, all to satisfy the horrific whims of those too wealthy to be denied."_

_Giselle runs her fingers over the scars again, her touch eliciting pleasure and comfort rather than pain. "These are old, but poorly healed. Did no one tend your wounds?"_

_"No." I shake my head. "I refused to let Marjolaine see what...what had become of me. Leron simply did not care. No one else cared."_

_"I care." She assures me. "I cannot convey in words..."_

_She lays her lips against the scars, gentle kisses, caring hands, wondrous touch, accepting the pain of the moments I endured, imparting her caring in a language that transcended words._

_"Lie down, my love." She urges, and I rest on the softness of the mattress as her fingertips continue roving over me, warm and bright and hopeful._

_"Lock this moment in your mind." She whispers. "Do you feel safe here, with me, like this?"_

_The motion of her hand becomes a lullaby. "Yes." I answer. "I feel...safe with you...I always have."_

_"What do you want, Kathyra?" She places the moment between us back into my hands. "Anything you need, anything you desire, I am yours."_

_I turn around and look at her, running my fingers lightly down her side, remembering the gift of her body; the precious, precious trust she placed in my hands. "Why are you doing this for me?"  
_

_"In hopes to replace your tragedies with beauty, Kathyra." She answers. "So that I make certain to take nothing but what I am offered. Is this...is this all right with you?"_

_"C...Can I tell you, Giselle?" I ask. "Can we simply...speak?"_

_"Yes, of course." She smiles, pulling me close, resting her hand on my hip, anchoring me in her touch._

_I close my eyes, breathe deeply, and begin to bleed the wounds in my spirit clean, for, at last, I feel safe enough to do so._


	53. Healing

**Kathyra**

_I smile at the woman across from me as the sun begins to peer in the window. Both of us wear lines of the tears that have journeyed from the darkest center of the heart and out into the light. My spirit feels as though it is barely there, no longer weighed down by the burdens of secrets kept and times forgotten. There is a hollow ache in my soul, a sweet, sharp pain, as though speaking to Giselle has debrided the wounds there, prying out the infection allowed to fester over years of silence and fear.  
_

_"That is the sum of it." I confess, my voice hoarse with the hours of speaking, the sobs that had wracked my body and left me worn. "I have given you everything, Giselle. All that I can remember, that Leron's magic did not destroy. I have...I have nothing left."_

_She smiles, reaching out and running her hand down my arm, her fingers lingering over the defined muscle. "What are you feeling," She wonders, "now? In this moment? Tell me."_

_"Empty." I tell her. "Hollow. Void. I have held onto that pain for so long...I feel naked without it."_

_"Thank you." She brushes my hair out of my face. "Thank you for trusting me with this."_

_She leans in close and presses her lips against mine. I mold myself to the kiss, into the taste of her, citrus and cinnamon, all that is clear and bright. I expect her to break free, to end the moment, but her hand threads in my hair and she pulls me tighter against her, running the tip of her tongue across my lips, begging entrance._

_I open my mouth and begin the tentative dance, frightened by the heat building within my body as she does not cease our connection, pulling her lips away, keeping her hands on my skin, anchoring me in her warmth and safety._

_"Giselle...what..." I ask as her hand rests on my side, fingers curling beneath my breast, sending shockwaves and sparks downward and through me. "What are you doing?" The question leaves me in a rush._

_"Giving back." She whispers. "Trust me." She begs. "Open her eyes."_

_I open my eyes and gaze at her, naked and lovely, painted in the golden morning light. There is nothing but brightness in her eyes, nothing but desire and beauty, and I tremble from the force of it._

_"Once you tole me," She speaks, punctuating her words with kisses against my neck, "that shadows create their own darkness. Here, in the harsh light of day, Kathyra, trust me. Please. I will not harm you, I swear it."_

_**She swore to me the same vow...when I first woke from Marjolaine's attack. And she has done nothing but prove those words to me, again and again and again...but I have given her nothing but all of my pain, all of my suffering and anguish. What else has she to offer me in return, but that same darkness.**_

_"Beautiful heart." She presses her lips to my left breast, pillowing her head there and listening to the thrum of blood through my veins._

_She reaches down and pulls my hand into her own, running her fingers across the calluses on my palm. Fire ripples through me from the delicacy of her touch and my body tenses in response. Immediately, her hand begins to rove over the taut muscles of my stomach, speaking a language of intimacy that I have never heard, soothing me without words, freeing the wire tight tension._

_"Beautiful hands." She breathes._

_"Giselle...I do not...I don't understand. What is happening?"_

_"Desire, my love." She answers, as sure and certain as she has ever been. "Look at me."_

_I meet her eyes, falling into the deep pools of green that have held me captive from the first._

_"Put your hands on me." She says, and I comply, feeling helpless to do anything else, but, simultaneously, **wanting** to do nothing else. _

_"See?" She questions, grazing my lips again. "Your hands are unbound. Your body is free. What do you want?"_

_"You." I gasp, pulling her on top of me, kissing her with a ferocity I did not know I had within me._

_In the light of day, I can see her so clearly, so clearly that all else fades. The hollow places in my soul cry out for something else, something new, begging to be filled, and not knowing what she offers, but wanting it regardless. Wanting what she spoke of...what she has always spoken of...beautiful things. Words of wisdom. Words of hope. Words of life and living that pulled a dying girl from the gutter of the city streets, from the brokenness of a past steeped in blood._

_Her lips travel down my neck, her teeth grazing against my skin, not harsh, but teasing. A pit of hot coals builds deep within me and I ache for more of her beauty. Her lips close over the puckered flesh of my rigid nipple and I cry out, anguish and ecstasy, arching my body beneath her as she tugs at the hem of my trousers. I raise my hips and let the clothing come free, joining her in a complete nakedness, a complete union._

_Her fingernails rake the skin of my inner thigh, light, without pain, as she moves her lips to my opposite breast, imparting the same tenderness. Breath comes short and harsh and fast and sweat breaks out on my skin as I feel her fingertips softly whisper over the hair between my legs._

_She lifts her head. "Tell me your desires, my love." She says. "What do you want? What do you need, trickster?"_

_"I...I do not know." I gasp as her fingers move lower still._

_Giselle smiles as she lifts her hand and paints her lips with the evidence of my desire. She leans forward and kisses me, letting me taste my own want, letting my mind see and understand the emotions I cannot convey with words. Offering me surety once again."_

_"I look at you," She whispers, "and I find nothing but beauty."_

_Gentle, she enters me, lingering for a moment as my entire body goes rigid, expecting harshness, expecting pain, expecting to find some remnant of the agony I had poured into her soul for surely, **surely** she cannot take such a thing within herself without returning it in equal measure. _

_"Look at me, my darling." She urges, beginning to move her fingers in a flowing, tantalizing rhythm. "Look into my eyes."_

_I gaze at her, and find her countenance aglow, her lips curved in a gentle smile, her eyes **gleaming**. "Before you," She distracts my mind, letting my body take over, letting me **feel** on every level of perception, "I thought myself content. I thought myself strong enough. A lone warrior, fighting her own battles, knowing no need, knowing no lack of anything. Oh, how wrong I was."_

_"Giselle," I reach out and cup her cheek, gasping as she curls her fingers up, touching me intimately, offering only pleasure and kindness and warmth._

_"I wanted to save you, trickster." Tears fill her eyes. "I never thought...that it was I...who needed saving."_

_"I did..."_

_"Everything for me." Her pace increases and I pitch forward, unable to control my reactions, amazed that no fear blankets me, that no pain follow from her touch._

_"You gave more purpose to my calling than I thought possible." She whispers against my ear. "You looked upon a woman of mixed blood and saw nothing but my soul and my spirit and you...you opened your heart to me."_

_A strange sensation takes over as Giselle leads me to the edge of a precipice that I have only ever guided others towards. The muscles of my legs begin to tremble, my back spasms in the same sweet rhythm of her hand._

_"So let me give you this." She offers. "Let me take your pain, and give you what you have given me, though you knew it not." Her strokes are slow, powerful, deep, intense. "You fulfill me, my darling."_

_There are tears in my eyes now as she withdraws, leaving me nearly empty, desperate, shaking and helpless to do anything but meet the burning emotion in her eyes._

_"I love you, Kathyra."_

_A single thrust of her fingers and I fall, overwhelmed as my vision goes dark, as I begin to sink towards the hollows in my spirit and soul, expecting the embrace of pain, the cushion of fear and finding...finding only light. Giselle's love envelops me and surrounds me, opening eyes blinded by years of torture and loneliness and sorrow. Comfort rushes in and takes the place of doubt. Peace floods over the raw, abraded earth, washing away hatred. Love swells over fear, drawing it within itself and extinguishing it, burning so bright that I can see nothing else._

_"No shadows here." Giselle whispers as I weep in her embrace. "No hidden thoughts. When you open your eyes, my dearest, there will be nothing here but me, and the love I have for you."_

_I dare my eyes to open, and the world is new in the soft sunlight. Giselle's eyes glitter with hope and love and tears of her own._

_For once, I can find no apology within me...all wrongs I have done, she has forgiven...she has erased it all. The demons that assail me now shall never find me weak again, or she has taken my pain, and strengthened me against it with the knowledge of her love._

_"Giselle, I...I love you."_

_"I have never doubted that, trickster." She offers a slow, languid kiss. "Never once."_

_"I do not know how..."_

_"Then hush." She presses a finger to my lips. "And let the world be new for a moment. Sometimes, Kathyra...the sweetest song is silence."_

_I snuggle deep into her embrace, letting her arms wrap around me, letting her love surround me, watching through the window as the sun continues to rise...on a new day._

_On a new life._


	54. The Foolishness of Hope

**Kathyra**

     "Lieutenant?" I woke to another soft voice in my ear, another pair of eyes the same unearthly green. 

     _But this is not the dream,_ I realized. _This is the nightmare. The waking torment from which I shall soon be free. If life is kind...if life is kind enough to rescind itself._

     "Kestrel." I whispered her name, scarcely feeling her hand as she pressed it against my forehead to gauge my temperature.

     "You were talking in your sleep." She told me. "And it seemed so sweet a dream that I did not wish to wake you but...Seeker Leliana said that you should not be allowed to sleep for too long."

     _Lest I forget consciousness all together and slip beneath the black. Let it take me, Leliana. I do not want to love you. Please._

     "Did I..." I still struggled to breathe, but the gnawing pain in my side had become nothing more than a dull ache. "What...what did you hear?"

     "Only a name." Kestrel answered. "But the emotion in your voice, Lieutenant..."

     "Maker's breath, Kestrel." I pushed myself up slightly, waiting for the waves of agony that did not come. "If being covered...in my blood...has not given you use...of my proper name..then you...are hopeless indeed."

     "As you say, Lieutenant Kathyra." She smiled, such a cheeky expression in a situation of utter doom. I could not resist a slight grin of my own. "You must have loved her very much." Kestrel mused, her eyes flitting, as they would for the rest of her life, to Rylie.

     "What?"

     "The name you said..." Kestrel mumbled, seeming somewhat ashamed, as though she spoke of something she had no right to know. "Giselle. I felt rather bad. like a voyeur, or something else unsavory. There was so much pain in your voice..."

     "Kestrel," I felt a dying woman's need to impart some wisdom, but not before searching the room for Leliana. I could not speak of this in her presence, not when I knew that she feared for the life of the one she loved...that she feared she would return to nothing where once there had been light and warmth and joy. finding that we were alone, I continued. "Do you love her?" I directed my eyes toward Rylie.

     "Very much so." A slight tinge of color entered the templar private's cheeks.

     "Does...does Rylie know?"

     "I think so." Kestrel replied, worrying her lower lip with her teeth. "I hope so."

     I reached out and took Kestrel's hand in my own. "Tell her." I encouraged. "Please...for the sake of all...all that is good. _Tell_ her. And hold...hold her close. Cherish. Every. Moment."

     Kestrel nodded, seeming to accept the advice. She pressed the palm of her hand over my heart and those vibrant green eyes went dark, saddened and sorrowed, mirroring an expression I knew so well.

     "You're dying, aren't you?" She asked, and I remembered once again how young she was, how unaware of the evils of the world.

     "I am." My heart kicked strangely at the words, as if it did not want to accept them, but I knew the truth.

     Calm, behind the emotions stirred by memory, the physician worked, calculating, assessing, diagnosing. We simply would not reach help in time. I knew, for my life was flashing before my eyes, its beauty and its pain, equal measure. And I dreaded the dark, for I knew that the grandeur had vanished now...that the song sung for the lonely heart had reached its crescendo, and soon would end.

     "Seal your lips, Kathyra." Leliana entered the cabin and knelt beside me, warning Kestrel away with a flash of oceanic blue eyes. The templar private withdrew and Leliana's gaze burned into me.

     "You cannot accept this, Kathyra." She whispered, ferocity and intensity, and all doubt that she could bring the dead back to life faded from me in an instant. "You cannot lock yourself away within the dream; you cannot wish for what once was."

     "Why?" I asked. "Why...do you want...me to live?"

     _I have done you so much wrong...more than I have even told you. I know you have a heart full of forgiveness, but if you knew, dearest Leliana, you would not be able to find one morsel of it for me. It is better...it is better this way. Please...let me go._

     "Your beautiful heart." She said, wiping blood from my lips with a tenderness I had not felt since Giselle's healing touch. "Your fathomless strength. Your courage, Kathyra. This world needs those like you."

     "I ran away." I countered, even though she did not know of what I spoke. "I am...a coward...Leliana."

     "Shhh." She soothed me as I began coughing beneath the strain of emotions, as blood flooded into my mouth, acrid and salty against my tongue, the bitterest of wines and cruelest of reminders. "I know a different woman. One who could have run, and remained, who confessed to me of secrets and plots and swore to me an oath. Keep that vow, Kathyra. Please, please live."

     _You would ask me to live without hope, Leliana?_ I wondered. _You would ask my heart to keep beating, to break open and bleed anew with this knowledge that I cannot run from for it is **staring** me into the face? Damn you! Damn you and your beautiful soul and your strong heart and your faith that is greater than any living being could ever fathom! Can you not hear me screaming within!? I. Do. Not. Want. To. Love. You. _

     "I...cannot...make that promise." I gasped, gagging on the taste of blood as I swallowed it back down.

     "I know." Leliana acknowledged. "And this is not a command...this is a plea. From a friend to a friend, a heart to a heart, a soul to a soul. I know life has been cruel to you, and crueler still it seems. But there is _hope_ , Kathyra. I know this."

     _I know who gave you this hope,_ I hated myself as the image of Salem Cousland entered the forefront of my mind, a woman so strong and fierce and brilliant that no light could ever comprehend comparison. _Certainly not mine._

     "Hope," I settled back against the pillow, willing the dream back into existence, to let the curtain at last fall on the mockery of my life, "is for the young."

     "We are not so very old, Kathyra." Leliana reminded me. "Not so very old at all."

     I closed my eyes against the painful wave of hopeful longing that crashed over me. _I do not want to love you, Leliana._ I thought again, perhaps for the last time. _But I no longer believe...that I have a choice._


	55. Two Years Later

**Kathyra**

_I walk downstairs to greet the war sunlight of springtime. It washes over the stone floors, painting everything in shades of gold surely meant to dazzle the eyes of mortal men, to remind us of our aspirations, to inspire us to greater things than the cold world holds.  
_

_**I never thought I could be here again,** I ponder the state of my world, of my heart, the peace and sense of surety I have been given. **I thought I could never greet the morning with a smile, without a sense of dread. I never dreamed...that I could be happy.**_

_I wash my face in freezing water, clear the grit from my eyes, and tie my hair back. The movement of my arms causes the wide swath of scar tissue on my right side to pull uncomfortably, and I gasp at the sudden, unexpected onslaught of pain from a wound long healed._

_Lithe, tender arms wrap around my waist and comfort infuses me as I feel Giselle's warmth like a palpable force._

_"Are you all right, trickster?" She asks, her voice light, airy, and soothing. "You slept rather restlessly."_

_A tiny crease mars her brow as she looks me over thoroughly, ever the physician of my body and my soul. On instinct, her hand presses against the scar left by Marjolaine's knife and I wince, layering my hand over hers._

_"Does it pain you still?" She wonders._

_Gentle, I pry her hand from the old injury, raising it to my lips and pressing a kiss against her fingertips. "Three years ago today." I breathe, wondering why this dismal anniversary rings so strongly in my mind, why it resonates with me._

_"The best night of my life." Giselle has the grace to look ashamed as she whispers the words. "Not that...not that I take joy from your tragedy, Kathyra. How strange," She shakes her head, "that such grace can be found in the most horrifying of circumstances."_

_I curl my finger beneath her chin and raise her eyes to mine. "You need not apologize for how you feel, my darling." I tell her. "It is simply..."_

_"The body remembering." Giselle nods, wrapping her arms around me and resting in my embrace._

_I run my fingers through her hair, amazed all over again by its color, its texture, the way it feels against my skin like a kiss. "You have given me much better memories, Giselle." I whisper. "Three years of joy. Three years of hope. Three years of love."_

_"The gods and their twisted mercy." Giselle sighs, moving away and gazing deep into my eyes, relaxed and content to remain there. "When I found you, half-dead in that alley...I thought..."_

_"What?" I ask, kind, knowing that this is a secret she has kept for herself, not wanting her to reveal it against her will._

_"I thought you were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen." The words flee her lips in a rush, and color rushes to her cheeks._

_"I remember your voice." I offer, a confession for a confession. "From that night. It held...it held kindness. And surety. I had forgotten those things before you entered my life."_

_"And still you took so long to trust me." Giselle chides, teasing._

_"I found my way." I reach out and take her hand in my own, squeezing it. "I found my way."_

_"And the student eclipsed the master." She takes my hand between both of hers and examines it, running her fingertip lightly across the lines and calluses etched into my palms. "You have a healer's hands, my trickster. I am given to believe that you always have."_

_"You saved more than my life that day." I whisper, knowing that we have shared these words before, knowing that we have walked through our memories multitudinous times, but on this day, they mean **more.** They are **needed** more. _

_"No more than you saved mine." Giselle sighs. "How convoluted are the paths of fate on which we find ourselves."_

_"You are worried about something?" I ask, seeing a concern in her features that has nothing to do with the past._

_"When does the floor fall out from beneath us, Kathyra?" She turns to me and there is fear in her eyes. "When does paradise fall beneath the flames?"_

_"What are you afraid of?" I inquire, wondering at this new face of alarm. "That my former life will find us again?"_

_"Your former life." She nods. "Mine. How long can we trust Dorothea to blithely ignore us? The institution of the Chantry clinic has done wonders for her reputation, but now...our influx of patients is so great that I know the good works of the Chantry are undermined. How long can we trust your sister to believe you dead...devastating beauty is not often something hidden well."_

_"Giselle," I step behind her and wrap my arms around her waist, pillowing my chin on her shoulder, "I promise you, I **swear** , no harm will come to you. Not from Dorothea, not from Marjolaine. We are safe here."_

_"I never had enemies until that night." Giselle mumbles. "Petty grievances, miniscule grudges...but never an enemy. Then again," She turns and presses her lips against mine in a furious, ferocious kiss, "I never had a lover either."_

_"Nor had I." I whisper. "But I had many, many enemies. Perhaps I still do. I cannot guarantee that Marjolaine will remain in the dark forever. I cannot guarantee that we will not have to flee from this place and find somewhere else to craft a lie. But I can assure you, dearest, that I will keep you safe."_

_"I trust you, Kathyra." Giselle reaches out, one hand around my waist, one atop my shoulder. "I always have."_

_"Then you are a far braver woman than I." I guide her in the first few steps of a tuneless dance._

_"Not a smarter one?" She teases._

_I pretend to ponder the inquiry before shaking my head. "Most assuredly not." I whisper, catching her lips in a tender kiss that becomes more..._

_...it becomes a song._


	56. Shadow-Laced Horizons

**Kathyra**

_"Sit. **Down**." Giselle orders with a teasing shove, though the tone of her voice is nothing short of deadly serious.   
_

_"I'm fine." I sigh, pursing my lips and staring at her with wide, imploring eyes._

_"You bloody well aren't, you rogue." She smiles, an expression that vanishes when I begin coughing._

_Pain spikes through my lungs and Giselle sits beside me, rubbing my back until the spasm eases. Her vibrant eyes hold a look of slight triumph, but it is mitigated by concern._

_"You've had that cough for a week now, darling." She ruffles my hair. "And I know you've tried to hide it, but you're a bit feverish. I must confess it is starting to worry me."_

_I wave my hand, dismissive. "It's but a passing thing." I assure her. "The change of seasons. I'm fine."_

_"Regardless," She says, the iron note in her voice that I am helpless against, " **you** are ordered to remain home today, and **rest**. I mean it, Kathyra. No cleaning, no organizing, no summons to be answered. No writing or drawing either; it strains your eyes, and you need your strength."_

_"But...the orphanage." I cough again, growling low in my throat in frustration. "Will you not need help?"_

_"Darling," She strokes my cheek with a tender touch, "I once ran and managed the entirety of the Chantry clinic. I am more than capable of handling this myself, and, depending on the nature of the sickness there, I refuse to endanger you."_

_"I know...I just..."_

_"For once, stop taking care of me and do something for yourself." She demands. "I should return some time after sunset."_

_I grasp her hand as she rises and squeeze it. "I love you." I whisper. "Please be careful."_

_Giselle turns to me with a radiant smile. "I shall. And I love you too." She answers, as she always does, but my heart never fails to sing with the joy of it._

_My physician leans down and kisses my cheek. "Take care of yourself, trickster." She orders, shouldering her satchel and leaving our home on an errand of mercy._

_**An errand of mercy...those words are in my mind...as a normality, as something ordinary.** My heart, so long denied joy, so long denied hope, has done nothing but bask in those emotions for these three years. Yes, there are the hard times, the disagreements...we are both stubborn, both opinionated, both determined in our ways...but the **love** is there. The love that sees us through every moment, that assures me that no matter what is said between us, in anger and in fear, come the morning, she will still be at my side, and I will be with her. _

_I spend the day obeying my physician's orders, slipping in and out of restful sleep, drinking teas with herbs to ease the tightness in my chest, smiling as I think of my beautiful Giselle. My thoughts turn to a place I never thought they could venture. Giselle has told me she desires no child of her own...but I can see it in her face when we visit the orphanage of Val Royeaux, or when Matthias, Areya, and little Gisyra come to pass the time with us._

_There is a longing in my physician, to turn her calling of care and mentorship to a higher purpose._

_**A family?** I question myself. **To adopt a child perhaps, one without father and mother...to save them from my fate, and from hers. To take a lonely heart and bring it into a home of laughter and light. Giselle herself has not spoken of it, but I can see...I can see the wistfulness in her eyes, the brilliant blush on her cheeks when she holds a child in her arms. And there are many...who need what we can provide.**_

_Unbidden, a smile crosses my face and a fire begins to burn in my chest, a sensation familiar enough for me to recognize it...now. It is hope. It is love. It is all things worth fighting for in life._

_It surprises me when I look through the window and see that night has fallen, the cool glow of the moon casting shadows across my stone floor. I no longer fear the night. I know she still harbors the same secrets, that somewhere, beneath her light, a woman...or man...perhaps very much once like me, sings the sanguine song of the bards. I know that secrets run rampant through the shadows, and that gold is poured from clean hands into dirty ones for services rendered._

_However, I am unmoved. I am content. I am happy. I have found my redemption and my light...and I have bidden that darker world farewell._

_A pounding at my door jars me from reverie and I grip the dagger of the knife I still carry always with me. I have become less fearful of the world, but I refuse to abandon caution. Not when I know that somewhere, in the shadows, there still lurk those who remember my name and my deeds from another lifetime, ended three years ago._

_I open the door and relinquish my grip as a man staggers forward, clutching the wound in his gut. I help him to one of the beds in the clinic and aid him into a sitting position, lifting his shirt and examining the wound._

_"What happened?" I ask, even though I already know._

_His wound is deep, caused by the sharpest of blades, the finest of steel. Were I forced to guess, I would say he had come across the tip of the rapier so favored by Orlesian noblemen._

_Accident at the docks." He speaks, and a chill crawls down my spine._

_He speaks with the rough accent of a dockworker, but I can hear the dulcet notes, the resonance he attempts to keep at bay. I frown as I turn away and fetch a clean needle and the fine silk used for the stitching of wounds. I feel his eyes watching me, and I alter my movement accordingly, loosening my shoulders, taking smaller steps, anything so as to let him remain blind to the fact that I am uneasy._

_I return to him with a threaded needle, clean dressings, and bitter wine."I will have to clean the wound." I tell him. "It will be painful."_

_"Had worse." He attempts once more to sound gruff, but I listen to the sound behind the sound, confirming my initial suspicion._

_**He is not as he seems.**_

_I cleanse his wound with the wine, knowing that I do not want to look into his face, but unable to fathom why. My mind is screaming at me, a memory just out of reach perhaps...or worse...a memory stolen. There is so much that I do not remember, and my hands begin to tremble as I stitch the wound closed and bandage it._

_"Keep still for a few days, if your occupation allows it." I speak, forcing my voice to rise above a frightened whisper._

_His hand, which does not smell of fish or lumber, but of gold and blood, lifts my face to the moonlight, and I stare into deep black eyes, eyes that have no beginning and no end, eyes that could smile while they murdered. My heart beats frantically in my chest, driving me back into nightmares._

_**How do I know you?** I wonder, scouring my thoughts, rifling through what memories I have of this man...unable to find anything. _

_But I know, I **know** , that I have felt something from those eyes before...and it was not fear. _

_"You are quite beautiful." He speaks, the dockworker's accent forgotten. "For a simple healing woman. Do I know you?"_

_"I'm quite certain you do not." I rise, moving away from his hand, refusing to help him to his feet._

_He rises, slow, and smiles at me, removing a pouch of coin from his belt. "Thank you for your services, my dear." He speaks, dropping the purse on the bed. "I shall be certain to recommend you."_

_"I recommend that you do not darken this doorstep again, no matter the reason." I spit, eager to get him out of my house._

_"As you wish." He nods his head and crosses my threshold, leaving me trembling in his absence._

_I slump to my knees, still desperately searching, knowing that I have seen his face, heard his voice, looked into those eyes... **those black, deadly eyes**...unable to recall. _

_I want nothing but for Giselle to return home. Somehow, the night has changed. The moon has betrayed me, showing me her true face once again, a face of danger and mistrust...all comfort from the day has fled, leaving ice in its wake. And, for the first time in so long, I am truly...truly afraid._


	57. Fearing the Past

**Kathyra**

_Everything is dark. The candles have burned out, the moon moved higher in the sky, becoming the strange, faraway entity that bards are taught to love, taught to revere. I sit on the clinic floor, staring into the empty hearth, daring myself to light a fire, to dispel the fear in my heart and convince the frightened child within myself that the shadows cast by light hold no threat._

_The sole sound that breaks the thick, heavy silence is the noise of my occasional coughing, and even that I mute, listening, always listening for the murmurs in the dark._

_**The voices of the ghosts,** I shudder as the pre-winter chill pervades the house and seeps into my bones. **The voices that I know are there...they have been silent these past years...waiting. Waiting in the dark and lingering. How could I forget the blood on my hands? How could I forget the voices that I silenced? How could I...how could I...how could...**_

_The door swings open and I flinch at the sound, but the cadence of the footfalls is one I know too well. A step that drives away the fear clenching my heart and twisting my gut._

_"Kathyra?" Giselle's light voice, tired, but un-tinged by fear, unmarked by alarm._

_The tension flees my body, leaving me boneless and trembling and exhausted. "I'm here." I speak, scarcely above a whisper._

_"Maker's breath." I hear a thump as Giselle's satchel falls to the floor and the door slams shut._

_I remain where I am as Giselle kneels before the hearth and strikes a spark, setting the kindling aflame, sending a warm orange glow throughout the house. My physician flies to my side, her hands taking mine, wincing as they feel the chill of my skin._

_"What are you doing, trickster?" She asks. "It's bitter cold outside, you're chilled to the bone, and already sick. Sit closer to the fire and," Her eyes at last catch mine and she **sees** deeper than any have right, the depth I have only let her reach. "What happened?" Her voice gentles. "What happened, my darling?"_

_"I...I do not rightly know." I confess. "A patient came in...while you were gone. I...I think I knew him once."_

_"From where?" She inquires._

_"Don't know." I draw my knees up to my chest and wrap my arms around them, shuddering as the first wave of warmth reaches out and attempts to comfort me. "I cannot remember."_

_Her expression softens and her hand caresses my cheek. "The dark times?" She questions, using her gentle euphemism for the blood-soaked nightmare of my past._

_"I th...think so." I shiver as I speak and Giselle moves behind me, wrapping me in her arms._

_Even though she has just come in from the chill of the evening, her skin feels warm against mine. "Do you think..."_

_"No." I cut her words short, knowing of what she speaks. "Let those times stay dead and buried, Giselle. I do not want them resurrected; I do not want them in the forefront of my thoughts."_

_She quiets, as she has every time this conversation has arisen between us. After the nightmares that have no form and shape, the things I whisper in the dark. I know they frighten her, and I know that she wishes I had the strength to face them. But I cannot do it. I cannot lift lyrium to my lips and discover what dark magic tore away from me. I cannot stomach the taste, nor face the recollections of what torture I have endured...and inflicted._

_"I understand." She speaks at last, after the uncomfortable pause which she knows I can translate. The pause of fierce love reigning in its temper. The pause of a lover unwilling to test that love too far._

_"I'm sorry." I breathe, relaxing into her embrace, stretching my feet towards the fire._

_"I simply wish you would not let these things haunt you so, trickster." She tucks her chin into my shoulder, watching as the fire burns higher._

_"I am not ready to exchange the questions for more nightmares." I say, wondering at the wavering conviction in my voice. "Are the ones I have not horrible enough?"_

_"I would not know." She smiles and presses her lips against my neck. "You are more than willing to confide your emotions; less than forthright about the actions that caused them. Do you still fear that I will abandon you, my darling?"_

_"Yes." I speak my fears into the shadows, daring them to come for me, to ooze out of the ether and take form and shape and intent._

_"These years spent at your side and in your bed have done nothing to persuade you?"_

_"It takes an old sword to slay an old fear." I whisper an ancient adage, unable to remember where I once heard it. "You are so damnably bright, Giselle. There are times, when I am near you, that I feel lost in the shadows once more."_

_"So I am freshly minted from a forge." She asks, the teasing lilt in her voice that never fails to place a smile on my lips, no matter their unwillingness._

_"Unblooded steel, my love." I lean my head against hers._

_"No matter." She angles her face and presses her lips against mine in a tender, reassuring kiss. "Time eases all wounds, alleviates all fears. I am willing to wait. With you and for you."_

_"How is it possible that you have the patience to endure fractious children all this day, and return home with some to spare for me?" I ask, staring into her eyes, drowning in their brilliant green, discovering a new universe after every blink, falling in love with her again and again and again._

_"Hmmm?" She asks, looking from side to side. "Am I not still tending a fractious child?"_

_"Wenchlet." I shove her away from me, attempting petulance and failing as she takes my face between her hands and presses a passionate kiss against my lips._

_"Love, my darling." She answers, fading from mirth to sincerity. "An abundance of love so great my heart can scarce contain it. Now, come to bed, and let me provide you with sweeter dreaming."_

_I rise to my feet, no longer cold, following her, and her promises, as ever I have done._

_**As ever I will continue to do.**_


	58. Dreaming Ever Farther

**Kathyra**

_I awake to the deftest of touches, a brushing of careful fingertips against my scars. I greet the morning, finding myself more sane; my heart less haunted. It is her touch, grounding me in the safety of my own body, guiding me towards the calmer places in my mind.  
_

_"Did I wake you?" I ask, concerned that, once again, I have roused her from slumber._

_"No." Giselle smiles. "Though I woke for want of you. You are so peaceful when you sleep, Kathyra." She traces the slight lines at the corner of my eye. "You seem so young and at ease with the world."_

_"Was ever I young?" I wonder, staring at the walls of my childhood home, where once two little girls had played and dreamed and longed for a world where those dreams would be reality._

_When all of life was a joy and a secret to be indulged in and unraveled. Before the tint of rose in my eyes was stained the crimson of blood._

_"Of course you were." Giselle pillows her head on my breast and I sigh with content as I tangle my hand in her hair. "But young does not always mean carefree, innocent, or childlike."_

_She kisses the base of my breast and I tremble from the unmitigated force of her touch._

_"I love you, Giselle." I speak the words that fall from my lips daily, that will never grow old, and never lose their emotion._

_"I know, trickster." She tucks her head underneath my chin and pulls me closer against her, to where our skin is as one, where her unblemished body covers my scars and lets me believe, for a precious instant, that I am whole._

_Tender, gentle, she strokes the long, jagged scar that runs along my side, hip, and leg. I shiver at her touch on the hypersensitive skin, basking in it, longing for more of it._

_"Of all your scars, Kathyra," She breathes, "this is the one I love the most."_

_"Why?" I ask, wondering how she could accept the blemishes on my body._

_"I have a theory, my darling." She says, her breath ghosting across my skin, warming me. "Perhaps a maudlin physician's dark thoughts, but it has been proven to me too many times to disregard it."_

_"And?" I ask, clawing into the mattress as her tracing of my scar continues, titillating my skin, harshening my breathing._

_"The price of freedom." There is reverence in her voice. "Everyone knows that it is the fight that earns freedom, but so few realize that the fight is **free**. It comes from the spirit, radiates from the soul and infuses the hands and wills the mind, bending to its own force. But freedom's price...freedom's price is blood, Kathyra. This wound earned your freedom, and mine also. You gave it for me...willingly."_

_Her words humble me. Though I have never considered myself a proud woman, the way Giselle speaks of what I have done for her...I sink low within myself. Perhaps young again, and blushing at the smile of a beautiful girl, mind turned on end for a brief flight of fancy._

_**Only,** I wrap my arms around her, igniting the nerves in her back with a feather light touch, torturing her as sweetly as she tortures me, **this flight of fancy has yet to crash to the ground.**_

_"I had nothing else to give you." I still the motion of her hand and draw it to my lips._

_"You call this nothing?" She gestures to the room we share, the bed we lie in, the life we have built._

_"You gave me the will to fight, Giselle." I draw her face to mine and press my lips against hers. "My blood was so small a price to pay to find that gift restored. I adore you, my physician."_

_She gazes into my eyes as her traitorous hand moves down and slowly circles my breast, closing further in towards its intended target. My muscles spasm and my breathing turns shallow as my skin puckers, hardens, and desire spirals through my stomach and moves lower._

_"Giselle..." There are words I want to say, but they leave me as her mouth closes over my breast, as her teeth graze the sensitive flesh and a feral sound of pleasure rips outward from somewhere deep in my soul._

_"And you let me give back." She whispers, flicking an erect nipple with the tip of her tongue. "Ancient gods, you're lovely." She moves lower, pressing her lips to the swath of scar tissue on my right side, drawing pleasure from the nerves instead of pain._

_My thighs clench and my back arches as my eyes close, forgetting the pain of the wound she healed with her hands, that she now speaks to and touches with reverence...for it brought us into each other's lives...a strange blood bond._

_"How is this mine, Kathyra?" She asks, moving lower as my body surges towards the heat of her touch, the conflagration of her lips. "Your love, your heart, your skin, your soul, your taste..."_

_Her lips descend lower and I cry out yet again as the warmth of her mouth engulfs me. Her nails trail along my outer thighs, pleasure and pain intermingled as I writhe beneath her touch, happy and no longer afraid. No longer alone._

_"Giselle." I whisper her name as her tongue travels in lazy, tantalizing sweeps across my sex, as she devours me body and soul._

_My muscles clench as I look down at her, as she sings to me the oldest of songs, speaks the most ancient of languages with such a skilled tongue that, too quickly, I come undone, falling back and gasping and panting, sparks and stars glimmering in my vision as she does not relent, instead filling me with her gentle, healer's hand. She moves in a slow rhythm, forcing me down from the precipice and dragging me back up again._

_My lungs ache as I gasp for breath; my eyes burn with tears as I relinquish myself yet again to the beauty of her desires. And I know, I **know** in my very soul, that this is worth any amount of blood. _

_"My darling Kathyra." Giselle murmurs, closing her lips around that so-sensitive bundles of nerves, pulsing the tip of her tongue in time with her fingers, driving me over the edge for the second time._

_I shudder, recovering from the fall as Giselle covers me with her body, punctuating her way with kisses. She brushes my sweaty, tangled hair from my face and smiles at me with eyes and lips._

_"I cherish every moment of what you have given me, trickster." She tells me. "I love you."_

_"I want..." I reach up and frame her face with my hands. "I want more, Giselle."_

_Confusion creases her brow and the slightest tinge of fear enters her eyes. "Are you...are you unhappy, darling?"_

_**No. Never that. But I am braver now. Braver now than ever before.**_

_"Giselle," I run my fingers across the delicate point of her ear, "I want...with you, I want...a family."_


	59. Perfection

**Kathyra**

     _Giselle's eyes turn quizzical and she slips beside me, the playful amorousness in her eyes replaced by a look of deep contemplation._

_"Of all the places I thought your mind might venture, trickster." She smiles, tangling her fingers in my hair. "You still surprise me."_

_"I apologize." A flush of shame infuses my cheeks. "I meant...I meant to wait for a better time to speak of this with you, but..."_

_"Hush." She stills my words with a light kiss. "I will not have you treading lightly around something that is obviously of great importance to you. A family?" She asks, a subtle hint in her tone that says more than her simple inquiry._

_**We have spoken of this. We have agreed...why would you press this further?**_

_I nod, unable to think of the words to adequately express my feelings as I look into her eyes, stunned by the repressed longing in them that speaks with more eloquence than any woman or man could dream of._

_"I..." she breaks the moment of stillness between us. "I want that too, Kathyra. I have, for some time. But we agreed. I will not...I cannot inflict what befell me upon an innocent child. I cannot sentence anyone to that. Unless...you could..."_

_Grief washes over me, sudden and without warning. Tears prick the back of my eyes and I close them, shuddering from the memory._

_"I cannot carry a child." I confide to her, another confession that has taken too much time to come into the light. "Leron...Leron made certain that his investment would never be at risk of producing offspring." I open my eyes at let the tears fall as Giselle places a tender hand across my womb, forever destined to be barren._

_"Magic?" She asks, her eyes filling with tears of her own as her beautiful soul takes on the burden of my grief yet again._

_"The very same." I remain still as Giselle warps her arm around me and pulls me into her embrace, guiding my ear to her breast, where I can listen to the reassuring resonance of her heartbeat and ground myself in the knowledge that I am not alone._

_"How many dreams have been torn from you, my darling?" She whispers, but her voice reaches not only my ears, but those of the gods she loves and follows. Gods of love and light and mercy. Gods that I still falter in believing._

_"All but one." I answer. "All but this."_

_"So what can we do?" She asks, moving from the stillness of grief to the flurry of action with a seamlessness that, to some, would seem cold. "What can we do to see these dreams realized?"_

_"I thought..." I take a deep breath, fortified by the assurance of Giselle's tone, the knowing that her desires align with my own. "...I thought that perhaps we could adopt a child. There are so many left abandoned, unwanted by the fools who brought new life into this world without consideration...or, so sadly, against their will."_

_"Beautiful heart." Giselle kisses my hair. "You want to save another from your fate."_

_"You have given me so much, Giselle." I lift my eyes to hers, luxuriating in the feel of her body alongside mine, the touch of hands that will never betray, never harm, never beguile and manipulate. "So much that I can no longer contain it within myself. I want to give," I trail my hands down her body, trusting their eloquence far more than that of my words._

_"I love you so endlessly, Kathyra." Giselle breathes as my lips find her neck. "I have...I have no power to refuse you. Nor any wish to do so. You have added so much joy to my life. Thank you." She whispers as I continue my worship of her body, my thanks for her beauty and brilliance and light. "Thank you for letting me find you...for lettering me **see** you...for letting me touch you."_

_Her words strike a primal chord in me. The remnants of the dark places in my heart vanish as my hands hold something solid, something real, the substance of things hoped for. I lift he rover me and cling to her, running my hands along the delicate, willowy curves that drew my eyes from the first. I hold her by the hips as her eyes meet mine in a gaze of longing and love and promise for new things, for a continuation of this life we have built together._

_"So," I look into her eyes as they spark with desire, "is it a yes, then?"_

_"Eternally. Irrevocably." Her eyes glaze over as I brush my fingertips across the apex of her thighs. "Let us build something unheard of, my darling."_

_"A home." I whisper, dreaming again as I feel her above me, radiating light and warmth and pulsing with desire as I slip my fingers into her slick heat and comfort._

_Giselle sighs in contentment and satisfaction as I move within her, an action that has become something more than simple lovemaking. It is a symbol of creation, of a decision made between two loving hearts and minds. A symbol to solidify the step we have chosen to take._

_"Look at me." I urge as her eyes flutter closed._

_She opens them again as I curl my fingers upward, feeling her vibrations through my entire body, an earthquake in my spirit and soul, a grandeur heretofore blissful...and now...now...perfect._

_"I love you." She whispers as I continue guiding her along this path, this journey._

_Giselle leans forward and kisses me, moving onto her side, her hand mirroring the position of mine as her brows rise in silent supplication. My eyes spark as I eagerly embrace her touch._

_"With me." She breathes. "Please...come with me."_

* * *

     ...fire radiated through me and flung me from the sweetest of dreams. I stared at the ceiling, remembering where I was. The stolen ship, the painful wound, the blood filling my lungs and drowning me slowly. 

     _Thank you,_ I whispered to whatever gods may be, _thank you for giving me this...for grounding me in this world of physical pain...for I cannot endure...what further dreaming **will** reveal. _


	60. Day Turns to Night

**Kathyra**

     "How long has she been awake?" Leliana asked above the sound of a low, keening cry. It took too long for me to realize that it was my voice, a wordless wail of anguish. 

     "Longer than the last few times." Kestrel answered, and I could feel the weight of both their eyes on me. "I cannot...cannot imagine the pain she must be in."

     "Kestrel, will you leave us for a moment?" Leliana gestured towards the stairs leading to the ship deck. "Breathe some fresh air."

     Kestrel made no argument; she merely turned and strode up the stairs as Leliana sat down beside me and took my hand. Comfort and peace filled me and I looked into the ocean depths of her eyes, wondering if her Salem witnessed the same thing as I within them. Overwhelming love, a need to protect, to heal the wounds of all the world.

     "I can only assume," Leliana spoke, her voice filled with compassion, "that you lie awake in such terrible agony because whatever dreams hold you are too cruel to return to."

     I attempted to speak, but the words would not manifest. I could but let the tears fall from my eyes in an answer to her question.

     "It breaks my heart," Leliana whispered, "to see you in pain, and be able to do nothing. Forgive me," she stroked my brow in a soothing motion, "for asking you do sleep once more. These dreams, whatever they may be...you witness them for a reason."

     _No. There is no reason but torment. To remember what I have lost in the face of that which I am destined to lose."_

     "Please." She asked again, this time pressing her lips to my forehead. Both of us knew the kiss' meaning, and I wept from her intent. "I cannot take away your pain, Kathyra. But when you wake, when you are well again...I can help you endure it. Go back to sleep, sweet soldier. For my sake...please."

     _Why...why does my heart cry out...why does it whisper, Leliana...that I will do anything for you. Even,_ my eyelids fluttered closed, _even return...even return._

* * *

_The day fades into night, blissful, exuberant. Every glance between us is filled with overwhelming love, a gentle caress every time our paths meet. There is a sense of fulfillment as we begin relocating the sparse furnishings of the house, making plans for the brightest of futures. A future we are so secure in we wish to give it to another: an innocent deprived and denied.  
_

_We stand in the doorway, my arms wrapped around Giselle's waist, my chin perched on her shoulder. Her hand reaches up and caresses my cheek as she leans back against me._

_"I can scarcely contain myself." She whispers. "My heart...it wants to beat out of my chest, there is so much joy there."_

_"The first time you told me such a thing," I kiss her neck, "I fell in love with you."_

_"I am so glad, so grateful, so delirious and replete with happiness." Giselle turns in my arms and kisses me. "A family." She repeats the words we have spoken of from sunup until now. "We are going to have...to be...a family."_

_**Yes!**_

_My heart trembles in my chest, filled with the same emotions Giselle describes, still too hesitant to speak them into the universe and declare "this will be so"._

_A knock sounds at the door and Giselle rests her forehead against my shoulder and sighs. Then she looks into my eyes and her smile is **radiant**. _

_"It would not be our lives were there not these interruptions." She casts away her frustrations._

_I follow her down the stair, mesmerized by the gentle sway of her hips, her hair as it catches and reflects the candlelight. However, as she approaches the door, I cannot help the foreboding that fills my spirit, the niggling voice in the back of my mind that has ever warned me against preparing for the future, or harboring the hope of dreams._

_"Giselle." I stop her before she reaches it. "Be cautious."_

_She looks to me and raises her brow, her lips quirking upwards in an indulgent smile as she peers through the hole in the door. I go cold as her face pales, as she pulls away from the door in alarm._

_"Kathyra," She hisses, "hide. Now."_

_"What?" I step closer to her._

_"It's the Chantry's templar guard." She flicks her eyes to the storage closet in the entry hall. "You know they are not seeking me."_

_**Damn it all to hell!** I quicken my steps and slip into the storage closet, fighting the trembling of my hands. **Has Dorothea at last decided to charge me for the crimes I committed against her? Has she decided that I can no longer be free? Be careful, my darling physician, please...please be careful.**_

_I press my eye against a knot in the wood of the door, determined to see what is happening, to make certain that the one I love is safe. Sweat beads on my forehead and begins to soak through my hair and run down my face as I wait._

_Giselle carefully arranges her hair, covering the tell-tale proof of her heritage. She opens the door and admits three men in templar garb._

_"Is this the home of the physician Kathyra?" Their leader asks, his eyes sweeping the room._

_"It is." Giselle stands before him, her shoulders squared, her spine rigid._

_The templar glares at my physician, scrutinizing her. A grin of satisfaction crosses his features._

_"Have you injured with you?" Giselle asks, the slightest quaver in her voice as she succumbs to the guard's scrutiny. "Or a summons from the Chantry, perhaps?"_

_The templar captain does not answer her and my heart begins to beat faster in my chest as he does nothing but **look** at her. _

_"Gold hair." One of his compatriots comes alongside him. "Green eyes. Pretty." He grins. "Fits the description, and no one else is here."_

_**They do not speak as templars,** I realize, gripping the hand of the door, preparing to open it. _

_"Very well then."_

_My entire body freezes as I watch the templar captain's expression shift, as a flash of steel fires across my eyes, glinting silver in the candlelight. A sick memory rings in my mind, the sound of a blade tearing across flesh...but no. This is no flashback, no repressed darkness come to the fore of my thoughts._

_The three templars flee the house as I fall out of the closet, scrabbling across the floor on my hands and knees, unable to breathe, unable to think...unable to keep my eyes from the spreading pool of crimson on the floor._

 


	61. Hell

**Kathyra**

_**No. No no no no no no no no no no no.** _

_That singular word pounds like a death knell inside my mind as my clothing becomes stained with blood, as I kneel beside the woman who holds light and life within her and carries the tethers that have, thus far, kept me grounded in the waking world._

_Her body trembles from shock, her skin is ghostly ashen and pale, and one frail, delicate hand covers the slash across her throat...a ribbon of blood...an uncrossable river._

_Her eyes plead with me to do something, to save her, to fight for the breath she struggles to hold on to. Her lips work, but there are no words, just more blood, blood that stains everything I have touched, that ruins everything I have loved, that owns everything I dream of possessing._

_"Giselle?" I say her name, unfamiliar with the stranger's voice shredding from my throat. It is raw and wild and animalistic, bordering on insanity, bordering on faithlessness and death. "Giselle, please, my darling. Please, don't do this, don't do this."_

_**"Help me..."** Her eyes beg and her brows crease and I know she is in pain, but there is nothing I can do...the red river still flows still flows still flows and I. Can. Do. Nothing! There are no herbs for this sort of wound, no bandaging. Magic could mend it, yes, but there is no time...no time. _

_I place my hand over hers and attempt to stanch the wound, hating the gurgling, blood bubbling sounds that peel from her open mouth. I can sense her light fading; the warm shield around my heart turning to ice and cold and memories of a very clear understanding of the definition of **alone**. _

_**Why is this happening?** I ask myself, trying to find the answers to the confusion in her eyes. **What went wrong? Who knew? Who...**_

_"Thy...ra..." It is just the faintest rasp, but it should have been impossible, should never have happened. But it does and she speaks and my eyes meet hers again and I wish that my hands were as skilled as she believes them to be._

_But I cannot fight death. I cannot fight this. I cannot even lift her head into my lap and cradle her against me. I cannot embrace her. I cannot do anything but this...but watch, watch as someone beautiful and pure is stripped from the world in a senseless act of violence._

_"I love you." I press my lips to her forehead, a promise to protect, a promise to care for--the ultimate statement of best intentions._

_**You lied,** the black voice rises up in me, threading its thorny, venomous vines around my heart. **You said you would protect her. You said that none would touch her and yet...look. See the blood. See the wound. See what your hand hath wrought. **_

_"I love you, Giselle." I force the black thoughts away, knowing that it will come again, knowing that I will commit these sights to memory out of penitence and hatred and helplessness._

_Giselle's mouth closes. The edges of her lips are tinged blue, but they curve upwards into a smile as she looks at me. And those eyes, those eyes whose color has represented all good things, those eyes which gazed at me, a murderer, a thief, a whore, a liar...those eyes which saw in me something worthy of love...those eyes **spark.**_

_I read them as only a bard can translate silence._

_**"I love you, trickster,"** Her expressions speak with more eloquence than words. **"Always have."**_

_Slow, damning, her healer's hand moves away from the slash across her neck, letting the uncrossable red river flow freely, without remorse, without regret. She lifts her trembling, bloodstained palm and presses it to my chest, over my left breast._

_**"Beautiful heart."** Her brows lift and I know it is an admonition to forgive and move forward. She is telling me that somehow, somehow, this twisted, horrid mockery of nightmarish travesty is a gift. **"You're free now."** She blinks, once, and I wait for her to wordlessly speak of some great regret, some final task that I must accomplish for her. Instead, her eyes open with the tiniest of sighs, and what I read within them devastates me. _

_**"I'm glad."**_

_"Giselle." I beg as the force of her hand leaves my chest, as I feel naked without her touch, as her hand falls down and rests in a pool of sick, sticky blood. "Giselle, no."_

_I lift her and cradle her lifeless body against mine, awash in so many emotions that I cannot name them all, a smear of horror and hatred and wrath and agony and anguish and suffering and sorrow and...no. No. There are no words._

_I tuck her hair behind her ear, shuddering as I feel her skin lose its warmth, bit by bit. I am haunted by the lack of her breath against my flesh, remembering this day's beginning, the love, the plans, the futures of which we dreamed and prepared for and now..._

_Now they are dead in my hands. The uncrossable red river carved in her throat._

_**Did you know she could sing?** I asked my beloved's murderer. **Did you know...she could sing?**_

_Great, heavy sobs shred out of my body as I hold my Giselle, my freedom and my fire and my reminder that hope still exists. Dead now. Gone now. Somehow at peace...a peace she took with her, for she could not leave it behind._

_I gaze into the stillness of her countenance; the playful lips forever at rest, the vibrant eyes closed in acceptance and absolution._

_**Gold hair. Green eyes. Pretty.** The templars words come back to me. **Is this the home of the physician Kathyra?**_

_Agony wracks me and twists my stomach and punches through my spine._

_"Why, my darling?" I ask, knowing now that the wielded blade was meant for me...that those men were no more templars than I was the empress. "It should have been me. Why wasn't it me?"_

_I am so torn as I sit, holding her, surrounded by and covered in her blood, letting it soak through my clothes and chill me...letting it stain me with sin once more._

_**I should have saved her. I should have protected her. I promised. I promised! **_

_**I FAILED.** _

_There are a hundred roads that I must travel; I know this as I stroke the angles of her cheekbones with my shaking, bloodstained fingers. I must find those who did this, and make them suffer. I must sort through the cavern in my soul and make sense of love and loss. I must honor her properly...for I love her...I love her...I **loved** her, for she is past tense now..._

_I must find the courage to...somehow...rise from the blood...and let go of her body._


	62. Living Death

**Kathyra**

_The night is bitter cold, wrapping around me in a frigid embrace, a blanket of ice to scrape across my soul in a mockery of comfort. I knock at the door, not knowing how I came to be here, staring at the dried and flaking blood soaking my hand, feeling the heavy stains on my clothes, weighing me down as though they are stones.  
_

_"Stay back." I hear a warning from within the house._

_It is the stone of a protector, one who cares for those who reside with them, not one who lets them be... **be slaughtered...oh gods, what have I done?**_

_The door opens and I look into eyes I do not know all that well, but my feet have brought me here, the last vestige of instinct that I will allow to guide me._

_"Kathyra?" The alienage Elder's eyes widen as he takes in my disreputable state; my bloodied clothes, disheveled hair, and wild, frenetic eyes._

_He looks beyond me, seeking the sole reason I, a human, would ever have to visit this place. My Giselle. My lover. My comfort. My healer. My no more._

_I slump to my knees, unwilling to cross the threshold, but unable to stand any longer, drained of will and strength...drained of life itself._

_"I need," I mumble, my voice thick with tears and scarred with sobbing, "I need your help, ser."_

_He offers me a weathered hand, a hand I shrink away from. All memories of the beauty of touch have been vanquished, and the phantasms Giselle had fought away for years with her mere, indomitable presence, roar to the forefront, repeating with the voice of a dead mage..._

_**Trust no one. Touch no one. What will you have at the end of the day but dirt on your skin and emptiness to show for outreach? An embrace of hands one moment, a knife in your back the next.**_

_"What happened, my child?" He asks and I shake my head, not trusting my voice to answer as I kneel on the cold dirt, praying for it to open and swallow me whole, to devour me body and soul and leave no memory that I existed...to let me be with her in a paradise newly entered on._

_"She...she...Giselle is dead." I whisper, hating the words as I speak them, hating that I cannot run and hide from their truth. I wear their evidence and I smell them on me, as visceral and real as if I still cradled her corpse close to me. "I...I don't know what to do."_

_His features change, morphing from worry into grief, and his watery eyes fill with the sheen of tears. "Come inside." He orders. "Out of the cold, child, quickly."_

_I manage to pull myself to my feet and stagger over the threshold of his humble home, collapsing again near the fire and staring through the flames, unaware of the heat, of the bright colors scouring and offending my eyes with their light._

_"What happened, Kathyra?" The Elder sits beside me, offering a scratchy, woolen blanket to wrap around my shoulders. "Please, tell me what happened."_

_"I...I came home." I lie, wrapping myself in the comfort of old habits, forgotten habits, habits my life with her erased...but she is gone, and so are the gifts she gave me. "I found her downstairs...her throat was cut...please, Elder," I dare to meet his eyes, wondering at the grief I see in them still, "I do not know what to do."_

_The Elder hangs his head, accustomed to the death of his people as I am accustomed to the death of mine. But Giselle...she was neither of us, and better than both._

_"I left her there." I confess, wishing that the fist I curled my fingers into would merge and harden into a knife so that I might tear out my own heart. "I hoped...hoped you might..."_

_His gnarled hand on my shoulder arrests my words and a flash of fear flows through me. "Wait for a moment." He orders, rising and walking to the back of his humble home._

_I hear murmurs and low voices, but I do not attempt to translate them. Language has lost its purpose, its beauty, its necessity. If it cannot be spoken with silence or with a blade, I need no longer listen. I need no longer wonder...wonder has been stripped from the world, leaving it naked and stark, reality oozing from deep wounds carved by human misdeeds._

_**I killed her,**_ _I speak to myself. **I fucking killed her! **  
_

_The Elder re-enters the room, two young, elven men behind him. He nods towards the door and they exit._

_"My grandsons." He explains, sitting beside me once more, an emptiness in his aged eyes, the firelight defining the crags in his skin. "I've sent them for her. She will...she will be taken care of, my child."_

_"I am sorry." I mumble, uncertain if I mean the words. "I had nowhere else to go... no one to ask."_

_"Fitting, then." His voice is somber. "You would come to my door. Giselle is...was...my grandniece."_

_"What?" His confession sparks the anger burning in my soul and I stare at him with all the hatred I feel towards the false templars, towards Dorothea, who drove Giselle out, and paramount among these...my hatred of myself. "She is...she is your **blood kin** and you did **nothing** for her!?"_

_He spreads his hands wide in supplication. "What could I do for her?" He asks, his voice calm and patient with longsuffering. "There is little forgiveness...on either side...for those who mix elven and human blood. And...Creators bless the girl, she found her own way. And then, after she found you...my heart found its peace."_

_I cannot accept these words, not from him, not from a member of her family who let her languish in loneliness, who refused to accept her because of her blood...blood that was equal parts theirs as much as it was anything else._

_I stand on shaky legs and stare him in the eye, certain that this will be the last time I **ever** gaze upon him. "Do right by her." I order, knowing that whatever funeral rites they offer, I will not be present...I cannot be. I cannot say farewell. I cannot let go of this...I am not Giselle. "For the love of all that is good, for **all** that **she** held dear...do right by her."_

_"Will you not..."_

_"No." I shake my head. "Send her to her gods...and I will worship mine in her honor."_

_I move towards the door, a path clear to me, a path burning bright with anger and wrath and ferocity and phantom knives I can feel already in my grasp._

_The Elder's hand rests on my shoulder as I grasp the door's latch. I turn to stare at him. "What gods to you worship, Kathyra?" He questions me._

_Once, I would have told him that I worshiped as Giselle did. That my gods were those of healing and love and light and hope. I know now that it is not so, that my darker heart has waited for my return...and that it came for me with vengeance and slaughter and a stranger's knife._

_"The god of blood." I whisper. "The god of death." I take his hand and remove it from its perch on my shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me."_


	63. Requiring Remembrance

**Kathyra**

_I let the darkness envelop me, inviting the chill into my soul as I cross the threshold of what once was home; what once was shelter and dreams established. Now, it is empty and void of life. Void of light. The embers flicker in the hearth, as though struggling to stay alive, struggling to remind me of the existence of heat, comfort, and home. They fail. They fail for they cannot erase the evidence of loss, the burning, blinding realization that, once again, all I possess has been stolen from me.  
_

_The glow of the embers illuminates the wide swath of blood on the floor, an ink black puddle in which to fall, in which to drown, to let the viscosity and stench consume me and paint me in the colors with which I am familiar. Red as blood, black as death, cold as ice._

_I slide down the wall and lean against it, sinking into my darker heart and knowing, knowing that in rage I have the strength to do what in love I refused. I would enter the recesses of my tortured mind and bring forth the truth I so desperately needed._

_**I have to know.**_

_I can see it now, as it was but a night ago. The black-eyed man who spoke as though he knew me...the man I recognized from the...the dark times. From now. I let desperation consume me as I climb the stairs and enter the room that once held such tender moments, such beautiful daydreams. I listen to the ghosts of the words we shared together, of Giselle's wisdom and kindness and beauty. Of everything I cannot have anymore...everything I should never have had from the beginning._

_**It was destined to end this way, in blood in death in sorrow in hatred. I should have known. I...I killed her...and the black-eyed man... he killed her too. **_

_I open Giselle's satchel, feeling warmth and wet in my eyes as her scent washes over me. I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste blood, unwilling to cry, furious at the tears I have already wasted. Why grieve when I can act? Why weep silver when I can make others weep crimson?_

_I rifle through the satchel, closing my eyes as my fingers come across the smooth glass vial. It is filled with the white-blue glittering essence of liquid lyrium. I stare at it for a moment before pulling the cork. The scent hits the back of my throat and I force myself not to gag._

_For a moment, I feel remorse. Remorse that I could not access these memories with her; that I could not let Giselle fully into my fears, that I could not open my heart completely to love. But I force the needless guilt away, for deep within, I knew. I knew that hell would return for me some day._

_I think of the black-eyed man, willing his face into my memory, the deep, soulless pit of his gaze, his lips which curved in a smile as he dropped the pretense of a dockworker's voice. He knew me somehow...and he is the key..he is the key to finding those who murdered Giselle._

_With a wish for something akin to death, or death itself, I drink the lyrium. I let it burn through my blood and boil through my skin and knock me backwards, deeper, deeper, deeper. Into hell._

* * *

**"You are too brave, Leron." The black-eyed man frowns, staring at my crumpled form o the floor.  
**

**My clothes are torn, my hair in disarray, and I can smell blood. I can feel pain. Something is dislocated. Something is broken. My body is made of pain, but I do not know its source.**

**"I am confident in my skills." Leron grasps my collar and hauls me to my knees, pinching my face between his hands and forcing me to stare at the black-eyed man. I can barely see through the slits of my bruised, swollen eyelids. "Confident enough to know, my dear Armande, that the mistakes of this night will not be repeated."**

**The black-eyed man...Armande...glares at me. "I'm not satisfied, Leron." He snarls. "I hired her on your word of honor...then, somehow, she snakes out from beneath your enchantment and grows a damned conscience? The guards know my face because of your bitch, and I want my payment returned and something more done to punish her."**

**"You do not think her blood is enough?" Leron's voice drips with indignation, but I know he speaks of me as property and not out of affection. "You've beaten her within an inch of her life."**

**"It's not enough." Armande growls. "She needs to be taught a lesson, Leron, from a proper bardmaster. Where is your other girl? The sister? Let this worthless bitch she one that she loves punished for her failures. Such a thing tends to make more of an...impact...on such a stubborn mind."**

**Leron's frown deepens and he casts me back to the floor, where I curl on my side, splinting cracked, maybe broken, ribs with my hand. I begin to struggle. I need to stand, to fight, to protect Marjolaine. Leron sees me stir and kicks me in the gut, and I bite my lip to keep silent as I crumple back to the floor, knowing that he is furious with me, knowing that Armande is furious with me. Still, one sole thought rings out in my mind...**

**_I do not kill children, no matter the price._**

**"Very well, Armande." Leron capitulates. "You've won." He turns his head towards the closed door. "Marjolaine!" He calls.**

**I attempt to cry out, to protest, but a hideous chuckle from Armande silences me as Marjolaine steps into the room.**

**"Yes, Leron?" She asks, her voice as smooth as honey and silk.**

**I want to warn her away, to shield her with my already battered body, but I cannot move. I am held down by the pain of the beating and my fear of Leron and Armande both. I know that I am wise to be afraid, but I also hate my inability to be stupid, for it means I cannot protect her.**

**"Oh my." Armande sneers as he inhales my little sister with a glance. "Oh, Leron, you have done well with this one. Come here, child."**

**Marjolaine looks to Leron, who nods, and I drag myself to my knees, gagging at the taste of blood in my mouth. "Don't." I rasp. "Please. Take me. Punish me."**

**"Be quiet, Kathyra." Leron orders, his tone harsh. "You failed to perform a contracted service. Armande has the right as a bardmaster to take his payment in blood and mete punishment as he wishes."**

**"Oh, yes." Armande rises and caresses Marjolaine's cheek. "She must be a good deal brighter than that...thing...you offered me." The bardmaster spints on me and I feel the lukewarmth of his saliva sliding down my cheek. "Virgin flesh." His tone deepens and I growl in the back of my throat. " Ripe for the picking."**

**Faster than I believe possible, Marjolaine takes Armande's wrist and snaps it backwards. The black-eyed bardmaster falls to his knees, howling in pain and rage as Marjolaine's fingers expertly crush the pressure points in his neck, leaving him gasping for air. Leron rises from his seat.**

**"You've little time until you suffocate, Armande." Leron smiles, teeth white and pointed in the firelight. "You've reclaimed your gold and taken the blood of the one who failed you. Agree that you have been compensated in full, and I'll order Marjolaine to release you. If not, you can die where you stand."**

**Armande clutches his throat and I attempt to read my sister's expression, but I am unable to see her eyes through the haze in my own. At last, the rival bardmaster nods and Marjolaine releases the crimps in his veins, allowing him to breathe once again.**

**"You callous...wicked...bitch!" He curses at Marjolaine. "I won't be humiliated! I will find your failure and bring it home to your doorstep!"**

**"Get out, Armande," Marjolaine speaks with command, without fear, and my heart shrieks in my chest as I realize what she is, what she has become, what Leron has made her. Everything that I have done is all for naught. "Search Thedas over and I swear to you, you will find _no_ failure to lay at my feet."**

**Armande rises and staggers outside, his error weighing heavily on him. Marjolaine kneels beside me and pulls me into her lap, her fingers tracing the swelling and bruises on my face. She leans down and kisses my forehead. Relief floods me as I realize that she is all right, that nothing has been taken from her, that her skin and soul remain unbroken.**

**"It is not yet time, Leron." Marjolaine whispers. "She needn't remember this."**

**"I agree." The mage speaks, kneeling down and pressing his hand over my eyes, rough against the bruising on my face.**

**Magic flows over me, swift and sickening.**   __

* * *

_I withdraw from the memory, sweaty and shaking, nauseated by the lyrium, a substance no non-mage was ever meant to ingest. I cringe as I realize the reason for Giselle's death. Betrayal is common in the bardic world, but a sister ruthless enough to kill her own flesh and blood...that would shake the foundations of even the nebulous bardic code.  
_

_**My death...my murder was the cornerstone of Marjolaine's victory and ascent,**_ _I realize. **Her slaughter of me gave her the strength to destroy Leron. It made others fear her and Armande...Armande did as he promised. He brought her failure...my life...back to her and laid it at her feet.**_

_White-hot tears of rage burn my cheeks as they fall from my eyes. Giselle is dead for a stupid, petty, bardic vendetta. She is dead because of the pride of a woman who became a monster I could neither see nor stop._

_**Gold hair. Green eyes. Pretty.**_

_Giselle is dead because of our resemblance. She is dead because she knew me. She is dead because she loved me._

_Trembling with wrath, I storm into the closet and reach for the chest at the back, opening it and withdrawing my leathers and my blades, all remnants of the time when I murdered, stole, and lied. I don them once more, adorning myself with the weapons of war, the thieves of lives. This is the decision I have made. This is what I will become. I will avenge her, and visit Marjolaine's **greatest** mistake on her doorstep. _

_One last time, I look upon the walls of my refuge, my home. Then, slow, with intent, I pull the curtains from the windows and an oil lamp from the bedside table. I wash the cloth and the floor in oil, spilling it down the stairs and into the clinic, leaving everything behind._

_I reach into the hearth, withdrawing a glowing ember and blowing it into flame once more. With a final prayer to the gods of vengeance and death and blood, I toss the ember onto the oil-slicked floor and cross over the threshold, letting the memories die in a conflagration. I will burn clean my former life...the life that was stolen for me._

_**And when my work is done, dearest Giselle, I, too, shall enter the flames. Perhaps some god of mercy will see us reunited. If not...**_

_**...then I will burn.** _


	64. Seeking Out the Song

**Kathyra**

_The heat of the day scorches the city streets. The stench of smoke clings to my clothes as I find my way from the sun-dappled roads to the realm of shadows, the back alleys and dark storefronts where the citizens of integrity fear to tread. It is the fearless and the foolish heart that walks this road...or it is the heart with nothing to lose._

_Behind me, I hear the staggering of a drunken gait, a shuffling, slogging half-step. I tun on my heel and stride to the drunk, pinning him against the wall._

_"Gerrof me." He slurs, and I wince at the stench of whiskey on his breath._

_"I'm looking for someone." I keep my tone low. "And I am willing to pay for information."_

_"You'n evverone else." He attempts to slap my hand away, but his efforts fall ineffectually askew._

_I reach into my pocket and pull a gold sovereign from it. "Tell me anything, **anything** , that will lead me to the one I seek, and this is yours." I tempt him, flipping the coin through my fingers before slipping it into my sleeve, out of view. _

_"Ashk me anythin'." He offers, looking for the vanished promise of many, many more nights of drunken oblivion._

_"I am looking for a woman called Marjolaine." I tell him._

_The drunk's eyes go wide with fear and he looks back and forth through the alley, biting his lower lip with a yellowed, broken tooth. He shakes his head and looks at me, a good deal more sober than a mere moment ago. It is as I feared. The three years in which she believed me dead have brought her all that she wishes. A reputation, power, and the fear of all who know her name._

_"Double th' gold." He whispers, his voice dropping lower with each syllable. "An' don' tell as I spoke." He draws his index finger across his throat in the universal gesture...it tears straight into my heart._

_Suddenly, the scent of blood rolls over me and all I can see is the furrow carved in Giselle's throat, feel her in my arms and hear the last rasping sounds of her precious breath as it rips out of her lungs. The drunkard gasps as my hand grips him all the harder, as my nails bite into his flesh, leaving crimson crescents of anger and grief._

_"Done." I growl, and my voice does not even sound human._

_Once more the drunkard examines the streets, making certain that we are completely alone. "Won' find her above ground." He leans in closer, the smell of his breath nauseating me. "An' don' say her name. She owns..." He gestures, a wide, expansive sweep of his hand, "...all ovvit. Kill you..." He hiccups, "...for speakin' her name."_

_"How. Do. I. Find. Her?" I bite the edges off of my words._

_"You won't find **her**." He lowers his voice yet again. "But the redhead." He laughs in a sickening, drunken wheeze. "Follow tha' one...to the court o' the queen o' shadows."_

_**Red hair?**_ _I wonder. **Though not unheard of, such a color is rare in Orlais...what would Marjolaine be doing with someone so conspicuous?**_

_"A name." I order, shaking him as his eyelids droop. I dig my hands into his skin again. "Give me a fucking name!" I shout, threatening to draw unwanted attention to us._

_"Nightingale." The drunkard shudders, staring at me with wild, wide eyes. "Sings a pretty song...tears your beatin' heart out...smilin' all th' while."_

_"And where can I find this...this nightingale?" I ask, becoming frustrated with the cryptic names of bards._

_**My life has become so open, so honest. I remember the luxury of speaking my mind, in one direct line of thought. One truth, one response, Maker's blood-soaked breathe, I want that again! Why...why was it taken from me!? Why must I always lose everything!? **_

_The drunkard shrugs his shoulders. "Nighttime." He answers._

_"Take your coin and go." I toss two sovereigns at his feet and stalk off down the streets, wondering what to do with myself until night falls, until I search the streets over for this mysterious nightingale and her red hair. My body screams for sleep, for rest, but I have burned the life that once existed. I have destroyed it, and the grief is still fresh, but my eyes are dry with wrath, my heart is dead and turned to ash. There is no rest for me, nor ever shall there be, until my sister's blood soaks my hands._

_I walk the alleyways of my past, letting the phantasms seep from the shadows and greet me, the wounds that I dealt them still bleeding. They smile at me in greeting, welcoming me back to the darkness I fought **so hard** to be free of. I stare at them, wondering why I ever felt remorse for their existence, wondering how I could let myself hope so far as to believe I could be forgiven my transgressions. _

_**But in truth,** I think, leaning against the city walls, resting my eyes from the glare of the sun, something too bright, too beautiful to look at, **a part of me never believed in forgiveness. It was you, Giselle. You convinced me that a different path was open. You convinced me...you loved me...why in hell did you ever, EVER fucking love me!? **_

_I open my eyes and wonder how I can still exist in the world. I wonder how I can draw breath when someone so pure, so beautiful, so full of life and light was torn from me with the senseless flick of a wrist. Every beat of my heart is agony, driving acid, no longer blood, through my veins._

_I know I must keep moving, keep focused, or this pain will double me over and render me useless, helpless, unable to take vengeance for the one I love._

_**Loved,** the past tense rails at me. **Loved.**_

_I push off of the wall and continue wandering the streets, hating that I move, hating the breath that enters my body, hating the heart that refuses to grieve and instead seeks blood as payment. The darker heart. The darker soul. The life that Giselle saved me from, I now return to in her name._

_There is something...wrong...about such a thing, but I cannot persuade myself to pursue any other course of action. At least this time, with this murder...my mind will be my own, and my cause will, for once, be **just**. _


	65. Washing Down Pain

**Kathyra**

_At long last, the moon takes her place in the sky, bringing the world of shadows to life. In the dark places of Val Royeaux, the streets, devoid of life and traffic for the whole of the day, seem to come alive as muted lanterns are hung in doorways. I climb to the rooftops, wrapping the shadows around myself, trying to focus on the task at hand, trying not to think of the nights spent wrapped in Giselle's arms, speaking with her of everything and nothing, running my lips across her skin, feeling beautiful and worthy and loved beneath her touch.  
_

_I watch the streets with blurry eyes, looking for something unreachable, a dreadful hope so unattainable, built on the word of a money-hungry, drunken fool. Even as the streets begin to move with the denizens of night, I sit down as despair covers me in a cold blanket._

_**I do not even know what I am doing,** I give in, lying down and staring at the stars. **Chasing the shadows of my past, the bitterness of my heart, the darkness of my mind. Giselle...I need you. I miss you. One day without you and I am cast adrift and finding myself once again hungry for blood and filled with hopelessness. **_

_I drag myself to my feet and descend the same ladder I climbed up, staggering into the streets, hearing the faint echoes of my body. It rants about hunger and thirst, but I do not care. I watch the world tilt and swerve in a dizzy whorl of dehydration. I cannot remember the last time I ate or drank, but it is meaningless now. I do not want to carry on with the pretense of living. I want blood on my hands...for the first time in my life, I **want** to kill...I want to create a hole in the world to fill the void within mine.   
_

_**But I cannot bring back the dead. Even though I want...I want...it does not matter what I want. I had one dream fulfilled, and one dream torn from me. It was all I wanted; now I have nothing.**_

_I stop walking and peer into a window, the fire crackling in the hearth, the first trickle of patrons entering to slake their thirst and forget their troubles._

_**And who is more troubled than I?**_

_I slip inside the doorway and make my way toward the bard, slumping onto a rickety stool and staring at the barkeeper with eyes devoid of emotion._

_"Whiskey." I slam a silver coin onto the raw wood, pushing it towards the barkeeper._

_Obedient, the keeper fills a flagon with harsh, golden liquid, slipping the coin into his hand and leaving the bottle behind. I drink, relishing the sensation as the fire of alcohol burns down my throat and settles in the pit of my stomach. I finish the drink and find myself unsatisfied, needing more, wanting more...wanting oblivion. I ignore the flagon and lift the bottle to my lips, ignoring the eyes of those around me and their unvoiced questions._

_**It does not matter anymore,** my thoughts growl like something feral, something ancient and wild and bloodthirsty. **Let them think of me as they will. Let life steal from them as it has from me, and let me see their expressions then.**_

_I sit at the bar for time unmeasured, drowning myself into a place of numb, to where my own skin is foreign to me, the ache in my body more easily attributed to the alcohol than to the fact that I have had my heart ripped from my chest and stamped into the earth. But it is blissful, and I do not care any longer. My memories are vague and fuzzy. I smell blood on my skin and laugh, because for some reason it is both wrong and right and that confuses me. I know nothing but that I want this state to continue.  
_

_I toss another coin onto the bar, but the keeper slides it back across to me._

_"That's two bottles you've downed." He says, concern underlying the gruffness in his voice. "Any more and you'll be dead by morning."_

_"Don' care." I declare, attempting to return the coin to him, but unable to make my hands move as they should. "Let it kill me."_

_"Now now." He takes my hand and returns it to me with the coin in my palm. "None of that."_

_I stare with longing at the shelves behind the bar, the bottles of nepenthe and panacea and reassurance and numb. Poison. It is poison, but I crave it, even as the world darkens and spins before me._

_Walls, built by a strong mind and bitter heart, are weakened by drunkenness and, to my shame, I feel tears in my eyes. I lurch off of the barstool and manage to stagger back out into the chill air of the night and the streets of Val Royeaux. I support myself on the buildings and shuffle down the alley, letting the poison work through my blood and the tears run down my cheeks._

_"I do not know how to grieve, Giselle." I speak to the night and the nothingness and the ghost of the beautiful woman I loved._

_The woman who believed in me. The woman who held me in the dark through nightmares and pain and illness and torments. The woman who stitched my wounds and loved my scars. The woman who is dead because she resembled me...because she ordered me to go to safety...because she wanted a life...with **me**._

_The world darkness at its edges and I fall to my knees, unable to orient myself, unable to get to my feet and continue moving forward. Forward means nothing...no discernable goal, nothing to reach towards except the ultimate end of death...theirs or mine. I no longer care which._

_I sit in the filthy city streets and let myself drunkenly weep, cry, and gnash my teeth. I let myself remember how she would wrap her arms around me and whisper sweet reassurances in my ear. I remember the feel of her hands as they would caress me and trace along the scars. I remember the fire in her eyes as she fought for the lives of others, even were it to the detriment of her own well-being._

_**You ar...were...so beautiful.**_

_She loved me, the one who ran away, the one who could never speak of love and affection without feeling fear. She loved the hands that were a murderer's and a thief's. She made my life worth living._

_**And what would she think, if she could see you now?** I ask myself as I let my eyes slip closed. **Drunk and soot-stained and unable to move beyond vengeance and anger? What would she think of me now?**_

_"Doesn' matter." I slur, speaking to the night, to Giselle's ghost, to the fragments of my shattered heart._

_**Nothing matters anymore.**_


	66. The Nightingale

**Kathyra**

_"My damn feet hurt." A loud complaint rouses me from drunken stupor.  
_

_**Too loud!**_

_My mouth tastes sour and my head is pounding. I force my eyes open and attempt to orient myself, to remember how I got here, to remember why I reek of blood and smoke and whiskey and death._

_"Stop complaining, Tug." A light-toned, masculine voice answers the complaint, so much more pleasant than the first. The intonation of his speech strikes a chord in me and I remember._

_**Giselle's voice had that same lilt...Giselle...she's...she's dead, and I am hungover in an alleyway. Oh, Maker, what am I doing!? Where have I gone wrong...what would one given to and given a normal life do? **_

_"Got every damn right to complain." The one called Tug grouses, still too loud. "Been runnin' after her all night, and I'm done with it."_

_I open my eyes, watching the duo from my shadowed place in the alleyway. Two men, one dwarven, one elven, stand beside each other, breathing heavily as they stare at the rooftops. Their eyes are searching; their wordsand the set of their bodies, prepared to run again, makes me believe they are waiting for their third member._

_"She should be here any moment." The elf speaks, running his hand through closely cropped hair and leaning on a staff. "As soon as she recovers the documents."_

_Tug kicks the cobblestones with a square toed boot. "Didn't sign on to be runnin' after pieces of paper, Sketch."_

_"Why not?" The elf smiles, genial and not at all bothered. "The pay is good, and the protection unmatched, yours from the Carta, mine from the templars. It could not definitely be worse."_

_**The elf...Sketch...is an apostate?**_

_My whiskey-addled takes in the elf's staff, recognizing the various runes carved into it. He moves, and through my blurry vision, I see the points of his ears. Unexpected grief strangles me and I stagger to my feet, leaning against the wall I'd slid down in my stupor. A figure melts out of the shadows, arresting my movement. I stand, transfixed, watching the lithe form move towards the two men._

_Like Marjolaine, she wears the shadows themselves as her gown. I can see nothing but the outline of her figure. Her feet make no sound on the cobblestones. She is silent as death, and perhaps as swift, if my sister has trained her. I know nothing of this woman save the for the fact that her connection with my sister makes her my enemy, but that I need her to lead me towards the one I truly seek._

_"Am I late?" A lyrical voice rings through the alley, bright and melodic, with a lilting Orlesian accent._

_She moves into the dim light of the moon and my heart kicks in my chest as I see the dim glow illuminate the wavy tresses of red hair. It is tied back in a practical manner, but it is a waterfall of fire and is beautiful._

_"Exactly on time." Sketch informs her._

_I sink deeper into the dark, remaining silent, the pounding in my head dimming as battle fever courses through my system, as I begin to comprehend that the mysterious and fickle gods of vengeance have answered my shuddering, blood-soaked prayers._

_A musical laugh fills the air as the redhead, the woman known as Nightingale, loops her arm through the elven mage's._

_"Then I suppose we're off?" Tug ass, his low voice peppered with irritation._

_The Nightingale holds a stack of parchment aloft, smiling, and her eyes, the deepest blue I have ever witnessed...sparkle. The glow of the moon makes her alabaster skin seem flawless, the shadows highlight the contours of her face, and I can see why my sister would take someone with such conspicuous identifiers under her wing._

_**She is...she is beautiful.**_

_The trio moves through the alleyways, the dwarf's frustrated gait, the awkward mage's shuffling footfalls...and the nightingale's utter and complete silence. I follow at a discreet distance, angry at the woman who drank herself into oblivion, hoping that the ungraceful steps I am taking are not as loud as they ring in my ears._

_I keep my eyes on the flash of brilliant red hair, following them, hardening my heart against her and the soulless hellion she words for, the woman who somehow shares my blood. The woman who saw me broken and bleeding and did **nothing** to help me. The woman who took my own weapon and rammed it into my body. The woman who cast me into Giselle's path and then **took** her from me in a cruel twist of fate. _

_I follow them through darkened roads, feeling the air press in on me like a suffocating embrace. The scent of copper and salt hangs thick in the air, along with the acrid odor of burning poppy. I cringe as the familiar scents assault me, as I remember my time in the bardic world, following others, intent on the kill, blood on my hands._

_**Giselle...Giselle never wanted me to have blood on my hands again. She wanted me to live a life of healing, a life of peace. But she was all of those things...without her here, I do not know them. I do not have them. I cannot be them. Without her, I am...I am this. A murderer, a woman in shadow, a woman devoid of belief. **_

_They lead me to a house, small and innocuous, though I know within it lie rooms filled with luxuries and secrets. That is the way of those who live in shadow. To conceal wealth within seeming poverty, to lurk in the ares where those who ask questions would fear to tread._

_The trio vanishes inside the door and I make my way to the house across the narrow street, climbing up the stones, to the rooftop. I am ready to settle in and begin surveillance. chills work their way down my arms and across my spine. I have never had a taste for killing, but at this time, in this circumstance, in this moment, it is warranted, and, yes, necessary._

_I remove my cloak and unstrap the bow from my back. It is a small bow, a recurve, built for easy concealment. I set a quiver of arrows down beside me. The kill does not need to be intimate. It can be quick, sudden, and unexpected...carried out in the same manner in which they took my Giselle from me. Blood is blood, no matter the manner in which it is drawn. Justice is justice, no matter the manner in which it is achieved._

_I examine the house across the way, smiling as I see that there are chinks in Marjolaine's armor yet. The windows are not shielded, lowered, barred, or bricked over. She has grown comfortable...as comfortable as Leron had been when Marjolaine snapped his neck._

_**You learn to love the life. And what you love, you grow comfortable in. This is why I will win, Marjolaine. This is where it all ends for you, and for me. You failed to kill me once. You will fail again, and you will pay for taking a pure soul from this world so that your wretched one may persist. **_

_"This...is who I am." I whisper as I settle in for the duration of the wait; until the one shadow I seek crosses the window, until my arrow flies, until justice is finally done._

_**This is who you are...** I feel as though I have been struck across the face, and the handprint of blood against my heart begins to burn. I swear I can hear Giselle's voice ringing in my ears, deafening me. _

_**"Andraste's ass, Kathyra, are you truly so ridiculously dense?"**_


	67. A Bastardized Redemption

**Kathyra**

_I run the shaft of an arrow through my fingertips, assessing its strength, looking for warps, cracks, anything that will stay it from flying true. I know also that I am doing this for the thousandth time to distract myself from the fact that the window I beg to see shadowed remains the same. I must distract myself, for Giselle's words are still ringing in my ears with a blistering clarity, as though they were real, spoken from her lips to my hearing.  
_

_**I will do anything to disguise from myself the burn of her last touch.**_

_I shake my head to clear it, refusing to acknowledge the phantom heat of Giselle's hand over my heart. Attempting disbelief. I have witnessed the dead. They do not return. They do not come back. Their voices are forever stilled, and what they carried in this life: vivacity, strength, light, and love..._

_**...those things no longer exist for me. They are dead. Like Marjolaine's heart. Like my soul. Like Giselle.**_

_Still, my mind wishes to convince itself that my physician is standing next to me, watching me. I can see and smell the tears in her vivid, vibrant eyes, the mask of sorrow shrouding the smile that had the power to melt me. I want to believe that the tightness in my chest is the pressure of her strong, skilled, purposeful hand...a touch that could make me feel nothing but beautiful._

_**"Trying to run away again, trickster?"** I hear her voice whisper against my ear, light and airy, filled with an underlying mirth. _

_"I am **not** running away." I speak to myself, harsh and almost too loud, trying to silence the ghost and deafen my ears to what cannot be there. What **must** not be there. _

_As if to prove my lies, a shadow crosses the threshold and ever muscle in my body tenses as I nock the arrow against the bowstring and steady my trembling arm against the stone of the roof. It is time at last to bring this sordid tale to an end. To avenge the one I love._

_Through the window, I gaze on the woman whom I have seen only in my nightmares these last three years. I lose my breath as I look upon my sister, overwhelmed by the emotions and memories that accost me. They flash against my vision, in the back of my brain, a tidal wave of every emotion I can process. Bitterness. Loathing. Hatred. There lies a tinge of fear there, but it is dampened...dampened by...by love?_

_**How is it that I can still feel love for her?** I wonder as I feel tears prick against the back of my eyes. I do not understand. _

_Again, the pressure in my chest intensifies. The bloodied palm print burns._

_**"Beautiful heart."** Giselle's ghost whispers. _

_**No, my darling.** I blink rapidly, biting down the tears, forcing away the screams. **Yours** **was the heart filled with beauty. Not mine. Never mine.**_

_A shout comes from the open window, echoing out into the street. I focus my hearing, refusing to listen to the voice of the dead, the figment of my imagination, the woman I must avenge._

_"Marjolaine, will you listen!" It is the lyrical voice once more, from somewhere beyond the window, for the sole person standing there is my sister. "You have put yourself in danger. If it is uncovered that these are missing, and you are found as the culprit...you will...you will be charged with **treason!** Surely you must understand..."_

_"Silence, pretty thing." Marjolaine speaks and my stomach turns as she uses Leron's term of affection for me to address the red-haired woman now standing before her. She runs her long, delicate, tapered fingers through the tresses of flame and she smiles and in that smile...in that smile there is **warmth.**_

_My heart kicks in my chest, rebelling at the evidence before it._

_"Please, Marjolaine." The Nightingale entreats. "I am worried for you. Please...just this once...please heed my warning." Her blue eyes are timid, but in them I see something that sets my heart afire. "I would not see you come to harm. Let me undo what has been done this night. For my sake, dearest? I...I love you, Marjolaine. I would do anything, **anything** to see you kept safe."_

_The edges of the foundation of my world begin to crack and crumble apart as I remember at last where I have seen the look in the nightingale's ocean blue eyes. It is the same light that sparked in Giselle's gaze when she looked at me. It is the same heat that I felt in my hands when I touched my physician. It is impossible that someone can feel this for Marjolaine, but I cannot deny the veracity of what I bear witness to._

_**It is love,** I realize, and my hands begin shaking. **It is truly...truly love.**_

_I force myself to remember, now. I force myself to fall back into yesternight, as I cradled my lover in my arms and watched her life depart. I demand that my heart recalls its despair; I **insist** that every dark emotion spill into my spirit and soak me in soot and shadow and blood. It does not matter what I see before me; it does not matter that someone of great beauty finds the soulless harpy that is my sister worthy of love. I **will** my darkness to roll over me, to blanket me as I draw back on my bow, letting the fletching of the arrow kiss my cheek in hollow mimicry of a phantom kiss. _

_**"You are no stranger to dark places, dark thoughts, dark times...yet in you resides such a light. I could see it from the first."** Giselle's words ache within me, drenching me in a flame that beats back the darkness I attempt to drown beneath. _

_"Be silent." I growl, wishing for the first time that I could drag Leron back from the dead and have him erase the memories I no longer need, for they will no longer save me. I am no longer worthy of saving._

_My arm begins to tremble, throwing my aim off balance and I watch, helpless, deaf to their words now as the Nightingale embraces my sister, relief in the set of her shoulders. I witness, disgusted, as Marjolaine buries her face between the smaller woman's shoulder and neck, breathing her in, savoring her scent... **loving** her. _

_**How!?** I demand of the universe, of any god who will listen. The criminally silent Maker, Giselle's Creators, her goddess of mercy and healing...the one deity I believed in...for a time. **How is it that someone such as Marjolaine can hold onto love when it was stripped from me!? How can there be mercy and justice in this world when this atrocity scorches my eyes!? How could a heart such as Giselle's exist when this is the state of existence!? **_

_I steady my arm, adjusting the bow, sighting in on my target and knowing that, without fail, it will pierce Marjolaine's skull and end her life forever. That Giselle will be avenged; that my conscience will be somewhat clean...that I will be able to die in peace, knowing that the queen of shadows met the end of her reign at **my** hand. _

_I loosen my grip on the arrow the slightest amount, a smile on my face and a song of death in my heart. Without warning, pain in my chest doubles me over. The bow falls to the rooftop and the arrow snaps in half, rendered useless as I fall to my knees, clutching my chest, pressing my hand against Giselle's blood, listening to the roaring in my ears. Her voice...a quiet whisper that could shake the earth. That **did** shake my earth. _

_**"You killed for me last night."** Giselle's words from long ago, spoken on the precipice of a new life for both of us. They were gentle, then, but now they scream at me with the righteous fury that she alone could conjure. **"I won't let you do it again. You deserve better."**_

_**No!**_

_I berate myself, attempting to cling to the darkness, to the bitterness, to the hatred, and finding it slipping from my grasp as a flood of memories washes over me. Memories of nights spent with Giselle, laughing. Memories of passionate embraces, heated kisses, declarations of love. Memories of fighting death, tooth and nail alongside her, indulging in a smile of triumph when successful, and sharing our grief when not._

_The three beautiful years of life that were mine, and mine alone, infuse me with their sweetness, with their **immutability,** and I collapse fully to the ground, curling into a tight ball of grief. _

_**So much, so much was taken from me,** cleansing tears stream down my face. **My memories of evil deeds done were destroyed, and I wish that they remain so...but these memories. They are ****mine** **, and no power can sunder them. No power can take them from me. I still have...**_

_The vice of pain around my heart unclenches, and the wind whispers across my cheek, carrying with it the comforting scent of healing herbs._

_**"Time to wake up now, trickster."** Giselle's ghost smiles at me and I look back to the window of the house, finding it empty, my opportunity gone...impeded and vanquished by a stronger hand than mine. _

_**I still have her love.** Absent-mindedly, or perhaps on instinct, I rest my hand over the bloodied print of her palm. **Here. I still carry Giselle...here. And she...Giselle wished my hands free of blood, she wished my redemption complete, that I never again seek the life she helped me claw my way out of.**_

_Tears burn in my eyes as I remember words spoken between us...not three days ago._

_**Freedom's price is blood, Kathyra.**_

_"Ancient gods." I breathe, rolling over on my back, staring at the moon, the stars, still aglitter with the promise of a new dawn._

_At last, here, unhindered and in shock, I understand the peace that crossed her eyes in those final moments. I understand the last words that she could not give voice to. Giselle...Giselle knew. She knew that the knife that struck her throat sought out **my** blood. She comprehended that she was paying the price for our physical resemblance...and that in that moment of pain and fear and confusion...she felt no bitterness. _

_**"You're free now."** The phantom of her wounded silence ripples across my vision, blurred with tears. **"I'm glad."**_


	68. Forging a New Life

**Kathyra**

     "The wind has slowed." I heard a hushed voice, drenched with worry. 

     "Is it bad?" I recognized the reply as Kestrel. Were it any other, the inquiry could never have been that calm.

     "Bad enough." The voice was masculine, weighted with anxiety and exhaustion. "Cousland is speaking with the ship captain now, not that there's anything they can do about it."

     Kestrel laughed. "You're going to doubt that the woman who took down an abomination..."

     "Still can't fix the weather, Kes." I began to recognize the tone of the young man's voice...Bronson...one of the raw new templars sent with Cassandra's ill-fated mission.

     "I know you doubt the Maker's grace, Bronson...but I have reason to believe it is real." Kestrel tried to encourage her comrade, and I wondered how she could still cling to hope, cling to faith, in the midst of this.

     _How can she watch Rylie suffer; how can she watch me dying...and still have faith?_

     Another set of footfalls, a cadence I now had committed to memory, echoed down the stairs, and I knew. I knew how Kestrel could keep her faith. I knew the hope that buoyed us all.

     _Leliana..._

     I opened my eyes, straining to see her, to catch a flash of the fire in her hair, the light in her eyes. I coughed and felt the thickness of blood in my mouth. The former bard's gaze turned to me and she smiled.

     "The wind has risen." She spoke. "In our favor."

     Kestrel's green eyes ignited and she sent a pointed glare at Bronson, whose shoulders slumped with relief, and a touch of guilt. I could not blame him for his doubt, however. There was much in this world that was cruel, unfair, and inexplicable. There was more of that within the world than moments that validated faith.

     "I told you." Kestrel whispered to Bronson, and Leliana's brow creased in confusion.

     "Hope for the hapless, Kes?" Bronson smiled. "Damn your optimism to the abyss." His voice held no anger, just a gentle, brotherly tease.

     "Not today, Bronson." Kestrel jerked her head towards the stairs. "Go and get some rest. You look dead on your feet."

     "Aye aye...private?" He joked again, nodding at Leliana as he made his way from the haphazard infirmary.

     He exited the room and Kestrel collapsed in on herself, losing the veneer of strength, though not her impossible calm. She looked up to Leliana and her eyes were pained. Pained with the weight of her words.

     "They're getting worse." She murmured. "Rylie won't wake up; Lieutenant Kathyra is in and out of consciouness, coughing more often, breathing irregularly. We are...we are running short on time."

     "Be that as it may," Leliana's voice soothed, carefully controlled to fit this situation, "we do what we must. The body tires, the spirit wanes, but the heart continues to endure. Rylie and Kathyra are fighting. Lesser women and lesser men would have given up by now. So let time go its way, and let us go ours."

     "And if time conspires against us?" Kestrel asked, her eyes shining that vibrant, _unreal_ green. "What then, Leliana?"

     "Then we stand and defy gods themselves." Leliana smiled. "We show them that we, too, are made of the stuff of the heavens. That mortality is not a limit to be reached, but a limit to be surpassed. Give no quarter to the enemy, Kestrel. Even when that enemy is fate itself."

     Kestrel smoothed the pained creases in Rylie's brow, her jaw clenched, set and determined. "I have no knowledge of defiance." She admitted. "A thief runs and hides. We wait for the storm to pass and then re-emerge, never triumphant but never...never vanquished either. Never before has it seemed like half a life. Not until now."

     "As you live, in every moment, is what defines you." Leliana encouraged her. "It is not the past, nor the future, nor the doubts of the present, but your actions and their intent, Kestrel. I left the woman I love...I _left_ her _out_ of love. And while my action pains me to the point of wishing I were dead, I know, I _know_ that she is waiting for me. That she is _fighting_ for me."

     "How can you be sure?" Kestrel asked, the inquiry of a young mind coming to terms for the first time with love and with loss.

     "Because she walked out of paradise for me." Leliana answered, grief and fire in her voice. "That is the love of the heart. To stand when all else has failed, body, spirit, mind, and soul. Even in death, love presses on. Even after death, love continues to give."

     All breath flooded from my lungs as I heard those words. I struggled to replace the air in my body, though I did not know why. I had continued to give...I had made my sacrifices...and this end would be my reward.

* * *

     _I spend the rest of the night wandering aimlessly in the streets of Val Royeaux. Every turn of every corner brings a fresh assault of memories to my mind. Some are sweet, memories of myself at Giselle's side, smiling and laughing and walking hand in hand. Some are terrifying, running for my life from those bent on spilling my blood. Some...some are sickening still, a knife in my hand, a death in my grasp._

_However, all of those memories are **mine**. They are where I have been and this city...this city gave me birth and gave me life, once, twice, thrice over. I do not know if I have a fourth incarnation within me. I do not know if I can pull together the twisted threads of my life: the child, the bard, the lover...and braid them into some new tapestry of existence. Dazed, I do not even know where to begin. _

_I continue walking, no longer examining my surroundings, no longer conscious of my location. I do not understand the lightness in the heart that, not candlemarks ago, craved vengeance and blood. But I know that, against all odds, I heard Giselle's voice, and that her mercy, her unerring compassion, stayed my hand from the murder of my sister._

_**Giselle granted me my heart...a heart that faltered and yet...somehow...did not fail.**_

_I lean against a nearby pillar, watching the sky ignite as the sun begins to rise, christening a new day in Val Royeaux. A day where those who love will celebrate that love. A day where those who suffer will weep and grieve in their pain. A day where life will continue being lived. I look upward, astounded to find that my feet have brought me here, standing before the Chantry, staring at the elaborate banner with the golden star...Andraste's guiding light, meant to be a beacon for those lost in the dark, seeking their path._

_**"Will you find your way back to me, Kathyra?"** Giselle's voice whispers past my ear, yet another memory, yet another time gone by, unable to be held again. _

_"A life for a life, Giselle." I whisper, remembering the light in her eyes as she spoke of her calling, as she spoke of the city that hated her, that despised her...that she fought for, every single day, without fail, a smile on her face and love in her heart._

_I walk up the stairs to the Chantry doors, the place that stood as Giselle's prison...the place where she gave my life back to me. And, now, I have my freedom...bought with too precious a price. But it is mine, and I cannot be so selfish as to refuse a gift._

_So I must give it again. I open the doors and enter the building, listening to the Chant of Light being spoken with the rising sun. I look into the clinic and smile. My hands are skilled, trained by the best, reworked from a murderer's...to give life, not to take it._

_**Let the fourth life begin...in the role Giselle was never fully allowed to realize...let my fourth life be the physician.**_


	69. No Reparations

**Kathyra**

_I walk through the halls of the Chantry, listening to the echoes of the morning vespers, sung in the exquisite baritone and tenor of the Brothers. The music soothes me, but I let the words smear to nothing. I find no comfort in the words. I find no comfort in this place, but she would wish for me to be here. She would wish for me to continue to live in the life she gave me, to continue to heal, in spite of her loss.  
_

_After two long years, I step into the clinic. It has not changed, but I did not think the sight of it would fill me with peace but, somehow, seeing the neat beds in their rows, the spotless floors, the shelves stocked with jars of herbs and vials of potions and tonics...there is something soothing about it. Something that reminds me of the home that I burned...the life I left behind._

_"Kathyra?" An over-bright voice jars me from reverie. "Kathyra, you look like death. Mirien reaches out and touches my hand, her skin showing the signs of her age; she is now in the middle of her life, yet bright as ever._

_I flinch away from her touch, unwilling, once again, to accept human contact. I know that it is something I will be forced to adjust to once more...but I loathe the very thought of it. Giselle found my body beautiful, and never touched but to give...the rest of this world is not so kind. I know this now, moreso than I knew it in the life of a bard._

_"What's happened?" The inquisitive physician will not be dissuaded from her inquiries and I sight._

_"I've...come back." My voice is hoarse with tears and too little sleep, stretched raw and taut with grief._

_"Is everything all right? Is..." Mirien's eyes widen as she sees the blood on my sleeves, the stained palm print above my heart. "Maker's breath, tell me what is going on. Where is Giselle? Has she seen you like this? Are you hurt?" I can say nothing. There is nothing to say. No reply I can construct. "Answer me, damn you!"_

_"I am unharmed." I assure her. "The blood...the blood is Giselle's."_

_Mirien's dark skin pales and she places a hand to her open mouth, a look of contrition entering her eyes. I have never noticed the warmth in the deep brown, never seen that Mirien had a capacity for compassion, for so often her boisterous, chattering personality distracted me._

_"Oh gods." She hisses, looking around in fear for any confirmed sisters or brothers, who will most certainly take her to task for calling on any other deity, save the Maker._

_"I need to speak with Mother Dorothea." I tell her as she takes me by the elbow and leads me, unwillingly, up the stairs._

_"Not until you've had a bath." Mirien pushes me forward with her sheer presence. "And until I have examined you and made certain...you look positively ill, Kathyra."_

_I remember the look in Mirien's eyes the last time we met, the anger that burned fierce in them when Giselle refused to remain at the Chantry._

_**Perhaps some others here loved her...perhaps more than they realized. More than I realized...more than I accredited them.**_

_"I thought you hated me." I mumble as Mirien all but drags me into her room and directs me towards a tub of water, already used but not yet emptied._

_Mirien pulls a curtain and shoves me behind it, allowing me privacy but not solitude. I shed my clothes and step into the tepid water, shivering and staring at the flakes of dried blood still adhered to my skin, buried beneath my fingernails. My heart burns as I realize that part of me does not wish it washed away, that it is my last link to the woman who held my heart in so gentle a grasp...allowing it to be mine...allowing me to give it to her, desiring to receive, protect, and love it.  
_

_"Giselle is..." Mirien's voice darkens as she realizes her mistake. "...was ours. You came from nowhere, Kathyra. And when you arrived, our mentor left us, first mentally, then physically. She left us for **you**. Those of us who wanted to learn were forsaken and I...I am older than I seem and I felt the loss keenly. I cannot speak for the others, but Giselle had my utmost respect, even though I did not always...could not always, give it to her."_

_Bile rises in my throat and nausea chokes me as I hear within her tone the reason why Mirien had never stepped forward and befriended Giselle. Why the older, kind woman had allowed my physician to languish alone in the Chantry. I knew now in a more concrete way than ever before, and disgust churned in the pit of my stomach._

_"Because of her elven blood." I finish Mirien's sentence, needing it to be spoken, needing the hypocrites who thought they understood my grief to come to their damned senses._

_"That is the cause of my lack of gentility towards you as well." Mirien's words tumble out as she shoves a towel through the curtain and drops it to the floor. "Somehow...somehow you had the luxury of not **caring** about her heritage. You did not care about our dirty looks and Dorothea's jibes and threats. Maker's blood...I hated you for that. I hated you for acting as I wished to be able to. For being able to be her friend...and more."_

_I rose from the bath, cleansed of blood, free from the stench of smoke and sweat and tears. I wrapped the towel about me and stepped out from the curtain, shocked to see Mirien huddled into herself, tears streaming down her cheeks._

_"Mirien," I addressed her, "Giselle was mortal, as are we. Her blood was red, as is ours. Her life here...she would not have left, had all of you been able to realize such a truth."_

_**She would have lived. Were it not for the bigotry of the race of men, my own race, my own people, Giselle would still be alive. **_

_Mirien looks up and brushes her unruly hair out of her eyes. "Is she...is she...is this for true? Is she really gone from us?"_

_"Yes." The words emerge hollow and harsher than I intend, but anger is bubbling beneath my chest even now. "Giselle is dead."_

_My anger burns towards those who kept their silence, who remained blind to Giselle's treatment, and especially towards those who **participated** in it due to the pressure of prejudice. Anger at the world who shunned the **one** woman determined to believe in its goodness. _

_"I'm sorry." Mirien shook her head. "I am so, so sorry. I always fancied myself to be her friend, but..."_

_"but you could not see past the points of her ears, or overcome the disturbance in your soul when her eyes glowed at night. Your grief has come too late, Mirien. Do not shame her life with your tears now. Do not regret what might have been, for you had within your grasp and **forsook** your chance to alter it."_

_Mirien glares at me, alarmed by the heat of my words and the intensity of my voice. But, somehow, her lips widen in a smile and the pain in her eyes blinks out of existence for one small moment. After that moment, her pain returns and her lips turn down at the corners, trembling with the force of her emotions._

_"You sounded so like her, just now. As if it were her voice issuing from your lips." She whispers, and my heart kicks against my ribs._

_"I loved her." I confess, for the first time relaying to the older woman the full extent of my relationship with my Giselle._

_"I thought as much." Mirien admits, her cheeks flushing slightly. She clears her throat and brushes the tears from her cheeks. "Let me get you something clean to wear." She offers. "Why...why do you need to see Mother Dorothea?"_

_I stare at the pile of my soiled clothes, the bloodied palm print standing out in stark relief against the dingy grey of the material._

_**Beautiful heart.**_

_"Giselle saved my life." I accept the Chantry robes that Mirien extends to me. "I owe it to her to continue her work."_

_I sigh, dreading what is next to come, dreading falling to my knees before another, even a supposed servant of the Maker. Dreading the words that would leave my lips, the promise I would make...but I would swear to no god, and no prophet, and no revered mother. I will swear my fealty to the woman I loved...no... **love**. To her calling. To her light. To her dreams and hopes for this cursed world. _

_"You are..." Mirien's eyes widen._

_"I will request Mother Dorothea," I lower my head and exhale, gathering my composure, "to accept my vows."_


	70. One Week Later

**Kathyra**

_The morning of the seventh day of purgatory dawns. I rise from my bed and rub the grit and nightmare sweat from my eyes. The hollow place in my chest aches, and I know it is the absence of Giselle. Here, in the Chantry, so close to her, the shadows are darker. Every patient I lose wears her face, and every night I dream of her death. I dream of losing her again, the sticky warmth of blood on my hands, the trembling of my arms as I look into the eyes of her killer. Eyes that mirror my own.  
_

_I drag myself from the warmth and security of the covers and prepare for the day, combing through the tangles of the hair that desperately needs cut, dressing in the uncomfortable Chantry robes. Dorothea accepted my vows, a grim sort of triumph on her face. However, when I had spoken to her of Giselle's death, an uncomfortable crease marred her brow, and her eyes flitted with something akin to grief. I did not know whether or not it was genuine emotion, or some construct to bind me to her will._

_**Perhaps Dorothea was as Mirien confessed...unable to break the bonds of prejudice. Unable to see past the hatreds ingrained in our blood...unable to change. Perhaps I am too merciful, and Dorothea merely wishes to enslave the woman who stole from her the clinic's greatest asset.**_

_A loud pounding on my door distracts me from my reverie. I suppose it should gladden me, to distract my mind with moment to moment tasks, unable to spend too much time in macabre reflection, lest it drive me mad...madder than I already am. I know I am losing my mind in this place, but it is all I have left. I cannot return to the bardic arts. I cannot dishonor the woman I love._

_I open the door to see Mirien there, her features tight with apprehension and something bordering on fear. "Kathyra, we have to go!" Her voice is too loud for the normal quiet of the morning. "Most... **Most Holy** is on her way and Mother Dorothea said she will be inspecting the clinic! We...we haven't..." Her voice lowers with grief, "...we haven't had a chief physician since Giselle. The clinic is a disorganized mess and..."_

_"I am **not** Giselle." I growl as Mirien grabs me by the arm and forces me down the stairs to the sound of the sunrise Vespers. _

_"No, but you were under her tutelage the longest of all of us." Mirien counters. "You probably know things that we are unaware of and...and to tell you the truth, Kathyra, every single one of us are wracked with nervous energy. This is not simply an inspection from Mother Dorothea or one of the Nine. This is the **Divine** herself!"_

_"Is she not as mortal as the rest of us?" I grumble aloud, watching the physician's of the clinic scurry back and forth in an attempt to make everything as perfect as possible._

_"And **that** is why we are asking you to speak for us, if necessary." Mirien sounds as though she is out of breath as she rounds on me. "In all truth, you are the sole one who will be able to keep their composure before her. Even the **Empress** bows before the Divine!"_

_I sigh as I trudge into the clinic and wonder once again how my life has disintegrated into this slough of madness. I have danced with princes and kings, wooed nobles, planted suggestions in the ears of those who whisper to the Empress. And after the loss of the last person who held my respect...I do not think it is well that they have asked me to speak for them._

_I lean against the wall, refusing to take part in the flurry of action. I have sworn to myself that there will be no more shadows, no more masks, no more pretense. Divine Beatrix is but a mortal woman. I do not believe that she speaks for the Maker, and even if she did, I bear that god no love any longer. That god allowed a beautiful woman to be taken from a world that needed her and needs her still._

_The main doors of the Chantry swing wide and a contingent of templars enters. My throat tightens as I remember those dressed in that same livery entering my home, bearing a knife... **gold hair. green eyes. pretty**...slitting her throat. _

_"Kathyra!" Mirien hisses, drawing me towards and setting me in front of the line of physicians ready to face the woman known as the Divine._

_She enters the clinic and all assembled go to their knees. Except for me. I have no taste for protocol, no wish to bow before another. Doing it before Dorothea was repulsive enough. The second time I did so, when I took my vows, I nearly retched. Now, however, I would not bow. No power in this world could force me to do so._

_"Kathyra!" Dorothea emerges from the crowd, her color high, indignation sparking in her eyes. I can hear the warning in her voice, and I disregard it. "You will kneel before the voice of the Maker!"_

_"Mother Dorothea." A weathered hand rests on the revered mother's shoulder, effectively halting her words. "There is no need for such a tone in the Maker's House, even moreso a house of healing."_

_A woman steps forward from the ring of armed guards. Her posture is straight, her carriage regal. White hair spills over her shoulders and down her back, the golden star of the Chantry embroidered on her robes of silk gleams, and I hazard to guess that the thread is fine spun gold itself. Black eyes filled with keen intellect examine me as she moves closer._

_"And who is this child," She asks, "who stands in defiance of all protocols set down by law?"_

_"This is...this is Kathyra." Mirien's voice trembles. "Kathyra of Orlais, Most Holy. She is...she is the chief physician of the clinic."_

_Dorothea's eyes widen at that, and her lips purse into the faintest of frowns. However, Beatrix eyes me with renewed interest._

_"There is grief in your eyes, my dear." She speaks in a low voice, and my heart trembles from the carefully crafted empathy I hear within it, juxtaposed against the clever schemes lurking in her gaze. "You have known the loss of something quite dear to you. Is this why you have taken your refuge here, in the house of the Maker?"_

_"Perhaps." I answer, unwilling to commit, unwilling to bare my soul before a stranger, even one blessed with such perspicacity and granted the highest title in Thedas._

_"Oh, but you are reticent." She rests her hand against my cheek, and it is warm. I struggle to retain my composure, not to flinch away and reveal yet another weakness. "As you wish then, Kathyra of Orlais. You do well to keep your secrets close, though you need have no fear of revealing them. Revelation often bespeaks strength, rather than weakness."_

_"And a clever tongue can undo the strongest of chains, given enough time." I answer. "Please, Most Holy, do me the respect of speaking to me without guile."_

_"Reticent and brave." Beatrix muses. "Let me see your hands, my child."_

_Unwilling, but not daring to risk the Divine's wrath and Dorothea's retribution, I offer my hands to Beatrix, cringing as she feathers her fingertips over the calluses and small scars._

_"These hands have held weapons." She surmises. "And used them well, and with intent." Her voice drops even further. "You have taken lives, have you not, my child?"_

_"I have." I admit, knowing that, of this, I cannot lie._

_"And yet you have turned your hands to the healer's arts." She muses. "Very strange. Very strange indeed. Those born to a life of blood, regrettably, do not often stray from it. What has caused you to alter the path of your life, Kathyra of Orlais?"_

_"Those...those are my secrets to keep, Most Holy." I begin to lose composure beneath her raven-eyed scrutiny._

_"Indeed they are." She nods. "I sense a great spirit within you, my child. If you ever desire to turn those hands, healer's and weapon wielder's, to a greater cause, come to me at the Holy Palace. The Maker could use one of your talent in our ranks."_

_"I have no desire to be a templar or white robed servant, Most Holy." I glare at the men and women in blue and silver armor, knowing that they hunt those I despise beyond reckoning, and bringing them to justice. But the sole mage I have ever desired to harm is dead._

_"A templar?" Beatrix smiles, like a cat. "No. Nothing so ignominious. There are those who must keep even the templars in check. Think upon my offer, Kathyra of Orlais. You have time to decide."_

_With that, Beatrix returns to her armed retinue and Dorothea launches into a long-winded explanation of the services provided by the Chantry clinic. I quietly tremble, shaken by the enormous strength of Beatrix's energy, though I am not at all tempted by her offer. I had promised...I had promised Giselle to never take another life._

_This new life, such as it was...I lived it for her. As a healer. Nothing more._


	71. The Ignorance that Kills

**Kathyra**

_"Too. Much. Cleaning!" Mirien groans and sags against the clinic door after closing it for the evening. "This illness would be one to cause an overabundance of vomiting." She shudders, remembering the patients we had treated during the day, all of them quite ill with a stomach ailment.  
_

_"It could have been worse." I stretch my weary muscles and wrinkle my nose at the stench of my robes._

_"No." Mirien counters. "That's what those who were **relieved** of cleaning are free to say. **We** do not get that luxury...Maker, I **reek**."_

_I offer a small smile as consolation to the chatty physician who has somehow wormed her way into being my friend. Since learning of Giselle's death, Mirien has not let me be alone; has defended me against the stares of derisive comments of the other physicians and sisters and brothers. She is a gentle spirit with a fiery personality, and I appreciate her efforts, while my darker heart insists they are in vain._

_**The grief lingers, just beneath the surface, ready to swallow you whole. Do you think living this half-life of a physician alone, without love, will be enough to placate the voice that still screams for vengeance? Or are you tempted, tempted to seek that path once more, just to feel the phantom of her touch and hear the ghost of her voice?**_

_"Go and bathe, then." I offer. "I am more than willing to re-stock what we have used...though I think every single root of ginger in Val Royeaux has made its way into tea by now."_

_"Oh no no no." Mirien shakes her finger at me. "Don't think you are concealing **anything** , Kathyra. The dark circles under your eyes have been the talk of the clinic since Most Holy's visit. It has been a fortnight since, and it is clear you are not sleeping well." I bristle as Mirien comes closer; flinch as she rests her hand on my shoulder. "Did it have anything to do with what Mother Dorothea said to you?"_

_"No." I lie._

_Dorothea had called me into her chambers after the Divine's inspection. I had noticed a distinct lack of its former opulence, but my musings were cut short as Dorothea launched into a tirade, condemning me for my lack of respect, effectively damning my soul into hell. Telling me that such behavior had surely, **without a doubt** , had been the causation of Giselle's death. _

_**Which was a truth I knew already. All Dorothea did was simply...simply hammer the spike further into my already pulped heart.**_

_Every night since, I have awakened, drenched with sweat and weeping, remembering the snicker-snack of the false templar's knife, the blood on my hands, soaking into my clothes, the look of peace on Giselle's face and the fiery heat of her hand above my heart._

_"Suit yourself, Kathyra." Mirien pats me once on the shoulder and I watch as she exits the clinic, breathing a sigh of relief as I am left to my own devices._

_Weary, I force myself into the storerooms, letting time go by unnoticed as I mix potions and make poultices, reminiscing of sweeter moments. Moments where Giselle covered my hands with her own, teaching me the precise angle at which to cut herbs. Moments where a tender, soft kiss against the back of my neck distracted me from an in-depth text on anatomy, and served to curb my studies for an entire evening. Moments of sweat trickling into my eyes, my hands covered in blood and buried in flesh, attempting to save a life._

_"I miss you." I breathe to the space my love once inhabited, to the empty part of my heart that ached without ceasing._

_Not for the first time, I consider Beatrix's offer. I am dying here in this place, fighting to keep Giselle's memory alive, to adhere to her calling. Little by little, my soul is chafing at the chains I placed upon myself. I am not born to this life for somewhere, deep within me...I lack Giselle's calm resignation. Such a life, rooted in one place, was desirable when she was with me. But since her death, I have felt within me the urgency that nipped at my heels when I was under Leron's thumb. The driving **need** to be rid of even the dust of this cursed city. _

_The sound of clanking glass vials distracts me and I enter the clinic proper, looking at the figure in the shadows, who is busy rifling through the shelves of our stores. Silent as the grave, I slip behind them and grasp them about the shoulders, pulling their ear close to my lips._

_"What are you doing here?" I growl, feeling that my territory has been invaded by one who does not understand it and should not be here._

_"Unhand me this instant!" Dorothea's imperious tones echo across the stone floors. Stunned, I relinquish her and watch as she regains her balance. "What in the Maker's name do you think you are doing..." She begins, then sees my face in the light of her oil lamp. "Kathyra." She huffs. "I should have presumed it would be **you** accosting the Chantry's senior leadership."_

_"For all I knew, you were a common thief." I inform her, feeling no need to be diplomatic after the tongue-lashing that sent me backspiraling into nightmares. "What are you looking for, Dorothea? Something to soothe a surreptitious itch? Is your vow of chastity losing as much appeal as your vow of poverty?"_

_"You unctuous, spiteful, pathetic..." Dorothea's frown dissipates and concern enters her eyes, fading to pain, bewildering me. "I need your help, Kathyra." She says, stunning me beyond speech._

_**Dorothea? Asking for help on the tail of an insult? This does not...this neither bodes well nor makes any sort of sense. What in hell is going on?**_

_"Speak." I offer as Dorothea's shoulders wilt, pressed down upon by some burden I have no knowledge of._

_"Did you know, Kathyra, that you are the sole woman who has ever entered my personal chambers?" She asks, confusing me yet further._

_"I was unaware."_

_"Of course you were." Dorothea shakes her head, as though she cannot believe that she is confiding in me, of all others available. "But I know you have some understanding of subterfuge and secrets. I did break my vow of poverty...I am a mortal woman, am I not?"_

_**The right to a mortal, fallible life is a right you did not accord to all of us who served beneath your purview.** Anger flashes through my spirit, white and hot, before I stamp it out. _

_"That is no excuse." I hiss, wondering why I continue to listen._

_"You are correct." Dorothea's lined face creases even further, making her seem older than her years. "Your flames and my recovery from them taught me as much. I fought temptation, Kathyra...until I stumbled. One little secret, one piece of information stolen, and the wealth from it...it is immense. But now, I have discovered that one who is not to blame for this matter has taken the punishment for it and I must...I must make amends."_

_"You would preserve another from your mistakes?" I ask, thinking it antithetical to the woman's character I have witnessed across the years._

_"I am afraid it is less preservation and more...restitution." Dorothea's eyes are blanketed with tears and my chest tightens, wondering what would instill such grief in her. "Whatever the case, it is an **urgent** matter. But I...I have no knowledge of what I need."_

_I slip into a bardic frame of mind, examining Dorothea's body language. The regret, the timing, the sheen of tears. Whoever she is attempting to help is obviously physically injured, or there would not be this desperation in her energy. She would also not be rattling around in the clinic seeking for things that she obviously needs, but has no knowledge of._

_With that knowledge, I scour the shelves, taking what I need, what Dorothea, in her ignorance, could never locate. "Here. These are leaves of shepherd's purse for bleeding. A stamina draught to restore constitution, wolfsbane for inflammation...and this." I pull the knife from my belt and hand it to her. "I imagine your charity case might be thankful for a weapon."_

_"Why are you doing this?" Dorothea asks, holding the tools I have given her. "Why are **you** , of all degenerates, helping me?"_

_"Because your body and your eyes cannot lie, not to me." I tell her. "And it would seem you are, for once, doing something that is not self-serving. It is obvious you are attempting to preserve a life. So consider my helpfulness a gift...from Giselle."_

_I turn to stalk away, wanting nothing more to do with Dorothea and whatever madness she has embroiled herself in._

_"Does it hurt, Kathyra?" The selfish revered mother asks of me. "Does it hurt to see another, perhaps even an innocent, affected by your thoughtlessness?"_

_I can sense that this is a true inquiry, from one **truly** ignorant of the darker world. "Yes." I tell her, fading into the shadows. "It can kill you if you let it."_


	72. Purpose in a Sleepless Night

**Kathyra**

_Try as I might, I cannot sleep. I toss and turn, unable to find peace, rest, or respite. When I close my eyes, Dorothea's look of contrition haunts me, spinning through my mind with a litany of possibilities. For the first, I cannot imagine the woman feeling the level of regret necessary to spur one into action. For the second, I do not know what prompted me to help her, even to the giving up of my blade.  
_

_Dorothea only grudgingly accepted my vows, and I sensed more triumph in her demeanor than acceptance. Before the others, physicians, brothers and sisters, she treats me with cool indifference, but when we are alone..._

_**...it is as though there is a war in her spirit, that she does not know whether to embrace me...or strike me down.**_

_Not for the first time, I consider the Divine's offer. My palms itch as I turn on my side and watch the candle burn down, a silent marker of the passage of time. I remember the reassuring weight of a weapon in my hand, the strength I possessed in those moments...a life I cannot fathom entering once more...but somehow, I am incomplete without it. I have always been lonely without a weapon in my hands. There are some things instilled from a life such as mine that even the fiercest of loves cannot alter._

_**And the one with whom I would speak of this is gone forever. No more gentle whispers against my ears, no guiding light to cling to. Do I do you honor, Giselle, in this life that is uncomfortable for me? This life that is not quite mine...will never be quite mine.**_

_I miss the warmth and weight of Giselle beside me as I stare into the flickering flame. Though there is no air circulating, for the window is shuttered, the candle light gutters and threatens to go out. The bard in me acknowledges the grim simile. I am not Giselle. I cannot live her life...not even to honor her._

_I may not be what I once was...but am also not wholly changed. The part of me that sought vengeance has not quieted, but rather altered in my understanding. I am meant to be a woman of action, in the thick of the fight...for the aftermath has the power to break me._

_I am not strong enough to witness the consequences of the actions of selfish men and women. I am not brave of heart enough to give myself as security and shield to those wounded in spirit and soul. Perhaps...had Giselle not perished...I might have been so powerful a creature. But not now, not as I am._

_Frustrated with my own restlessness, at my end with the torments of my mind, I rise from the bed and snuff the candle flame between my fingertips. I allow it to burn, willing the pain to awaken me further and pull me into a world so harsh and unforgiving...a world kinder still than my nightmares._

_I sigh and make my way downstairs, into the clinic, eager and desperate to busy myself with something to distract my over-active mind. There is always work to be done here, but I still long for Giselle's presence, still find my ears aching as they listen even now for a voice forever silenced. A voice relegated to the shadows and the stillness of a haunted mind._

_Had I not been listening for ghosts, I would never have heard the faintest of knocks at the side door. It was not the main entrance to the clinic, and so few knew of it that my hand flies to the hilt of the weapon I no longer carry. Unable to believe that I relinquished my blade into Dorothea's unctuous hands, I curse myself as I walk to the door, prepared for an attack. I have killed with nothing but my hands before. Though unpracticed, murder is never a skill or an ability capable of being lost._

_I pull open the door and the stench of blood, death, and decay assaults me as a figure stumbles in from the winter's chill. In the dim light of my oil lamp, I can identify only that the shadowed figure before me is a woman. She sways precariously on her feet and the oil lamp falls from my hand, washing the stone floor in a flaming puddle as I hurry forward to break her fall._

_I go to my knees, cradling her against me, feeling the tell-tale stickiness of blood beginning to cover my hands. A waterfall of matted, filthy, red hair hangs to the floor, and all questions stick in my throat as her bruised and swollen eyes open. The whites of them are splotched with the red of blood, but I recognize them. In their devastating blue, which held such love that it spared my taking of Marjolaine's life, I can now see the depths of hell._

_I pull my canteen from my belt and hold it to her slack lips, allowing her small sips of water, withdrawing it as she coughs with no force, no air in her lungs to power it. Her lips are cracked, split, and bleeding. They still work back and forth, attempting to form a single world._

_"Sanc...tu...ary." Her voice, which I remember as sweet and melodic, is shredded and torn as she claims the right to be shielded from harm, so long as she remains behind Chantry doors._

_**Is this whom Dorothea sought to help,** I wonder, my question answering itself as my knife falls from the woman's limp, broken fingers. _

_I lift the poor girl and carry her into the rooms set aside for intensive and intrusive care. As gently as I am able, I set her on the raised stone table, cushioning her head with a nearby folded blanket. My hands tremble as I light the wall sconces, illuminating the room, allowing me to see the extent of her injuries._

_**Will this bring Marjolaine to our door?** I wonder, selfish, feeling guilt for the self-centered thought. _

_Light floods the room and I turn back to my patient. Tears leap into my eyes and my gut twists as bile rises in my throat._

_The woman is practically naked; her clothes tatters and rags, no longer able to preserve even the idea of modesty. Whatever color the rags once held has been overtaken with the dingy brown of old, dried blood. I move the shreds of stiff cloth aside and lift my hand to my lips to restrain a cry._

_The wound in her right side is deep, tinged violet and black with infection, the riven skin weeping the sick green-yellow of pus. Fresh blood soaks the herbs pressed into the gaping tear in her flesh. Phantom pain rips through me as I press my hand to the scar that once was this injury. This woman had been tortured, but she had first been betrayed...at the hands of Marjolaine. The wound, first used on me, became her signature...a slow, painful death, the final kiss from the queen of shadows._

_"Can you help her?" A ragged voice comes from the doorway and I nearly leap from my skin._

_I turn to gaze at the pallid face of Mother Dorothea. A thousand questions spring to my lips, but I silence them. Marjolaine shall **not** triumph again. She will not take another living soul under my protection from this world. I do not know the woman before me, but I know that she loved...perhaps even still loves...my sister. And it does not take a skilled healer to know that her time is short. _

_"I will do what I can." I tell Dorothea. "But if you wish her to live, you **must** send to the Circle for a healer mage. Now." In the heat of the room, the stench of rotting flesh is unmistakable...damage no mere physician can mitigate. "Traditional methods will do little at this juncture but ease her suffering and send her into the Maker's embrace. Wake Mirien as well. I could use another pair of hands."_

_Dorothea glares at me before sighing. "I will send for the mage and wake your fellow." She accedes to my wishes, but is unable to leave without one parting blow. "Giselle could have saved her...unaided."_

_If my eyes were arrows, Dorothea would have been pierced twice through the skull._

_"I am **not** Giselle." I hiss, slamming the door in her face. _


	73. Fighting for Life

**Kathyra**

_I set to work, filling a pot with water and hanging it over the fire to boil. Then, torch in hand, I ran for the supply room, gathering all the herbs, tonics, and tinctures I could possibly need. The memories swarmed me at the familiar scent of the room...the soft sigh of Giselle as she cut her hand; my catching her when she fell, feeling the heat of her fever burning against my body. That moment, the most fearful in my life, I thought I would lose her and then...then I did not even fully understand that I loved her.  
_

_**Would that I had come to that understanding sooner, beautiful girl,** I whispered to my personal ghost, the woman that I alone knew truly how to mourn. **Then we might have known longer together...and been happier before the end. Perhaps, even...averted it. I would give anything to have you here to help me...I do not know what to go. Please, guide my hands. Guide my heart.**  
_

_I cannot deny that there is a part of me that does not wish to help this woman. If I do not help her, perhaps Marjolaine will suffer and she **deserves** to suffer. However, I know the wound in the Nightingale's side all too well. I have felt its pain, its heat, its immobilizing weakness. It must have been dealt by Marjolaine and it is proof that she no longer loves this woman. And, for that, I must save her. If not for her own merit, then to **spite** Marjolaine. To give back to this world someone she wishes gone from it. That, I can do. _

_**Happily.**_

_I rush back to the treatment room, heartened when I hear the arrhythmic, stilted breathing of my patient. I pour a bag of precious salt into the now boiling water stir it until it dissolves. When it does, I transfer it, soaking several cloths into the mixture. I brush the Nightingale's lank, bloodied hair away from her face and touch her cheek. The skin is painfully cold._

_"I am sorry." I whisper as I lift one of the cloths from the steaming water, talking to an unconscious patient in mimicry of Giselle. "I must do what I can to draw out the infection. I can mend your wounds all I wish, but infection is the true killer, and my skills are far more suited to that than a mage's. Magic cannot eradicate illness, you know."_

_I work for...for I do not know how long, and then a pair of caramel hands are there, assisting me. A candlemark later, a young man in mage robes stumbles into the room, shoved by his templar escort. The Nightingale still lives, and, if I have my way, she will continue to do so. Mirien and the mage, however, are not so certain. After we have done all we can for the front half of her body, the cleaning of the deep burns that mark every spacing between her ribs, the fourteen gruesome hashmarks across each collarbone, and lacerations liberal and delicate across her breasts, torso, thighs, shins, and tops of her feet, we move her to her back, turning her head to the side so she might still breathe._

_"Oh gods." Mirien gasps, lifting a bloodstained hand to her parted lips. "I did not think it could possibly be **worse**."_

_I set my mouth in a thin line and attempt to control the shaking in my hands. The healer mage visibly pales. He is a young man, not even twenty, but his templar escort informed us he was quite skilled as a healer. Still, even though I can see his youth and innocence, I cannot trust anyone who reeks of lyrium...anyone who wields magic._

_Mirien shakes her head, at a loss for words, her eyes brimming with tears as we survey the landscape of damage._

_I move closer to the table, stilling the trembling in my hands, forcing myself to believe that I can remain calm, remain detached, even though I know this woman, whoever she may be, has suffered from the sole gift Marjolaine gives to those she claims to love. Betrayal._

_"Torture did this." I quip, cutting off the last of the filthy rags that stick to the woman's skin, attempting to detach my heart and hide my urgency. "They flogged her first, then poured molten metal into the wounds to stop the bleeding and cause further pain. Master healer, if you would begin with the wounds on her side. I have debrided and cleaned it but it is too ragged to stitch...and too dangerous to leave the infection closed off. Just...heal what internal damage you can without trapping the infection in. Mirien, I need more bandaging and a small knife with as thin a blade as possible."_

_The mage bites his lip and frowns. "I will do what I can but...but healing magic does not work in quite the way that most perceive."_

_"Then explain it." I snap, on the verge of losing my temper as I wait for Mirien to return with what I need. "Because, at this moment, this poor woman is in **agony**. Do you understand the concept of a pain so severe that it makes you desire to gouge out your own eyes and **die!** Because **I** do."_

_The mage pales to another shade of white, leaving his skin with a green hue. "Healing magic simply speeds the body's own inclination and ability to heal." He rattles off the rote definition. "It pulls from the body's own reserves to heal the injury. This woman," His eyes fill with compassion and I allow my heart to soften, but only just. "She...she is so weak. The magic might kill her...it might take strength she does not have...or cannot spare."_

_I grit my teeth in frustration as Mirien returns with swaths of bandaging, another kettle of boiling water, and an assortment of surgeon's instruments._

_"Do whatever you can without risk to her life." I order him, approving as he slips into a light healer's trance and begins to focus the swirl of blue energy at his fingertips against the Nightingale's side._

_I whisper a prayer to Giselle's goddess...the goddess of mercy and healing, hoping that, somewhere, she exists. I take up a small physician's blade and test the edge, content as the slightest pressure breaks my skin. Mirien sets down a small bowl, filled with dark liquid and a pungent smell._

_"What in seven hells?" I ask, knowing the contents...and their purpose._

_"Valerian and poppy." Mirien's eyes are frightened, her face drawn and haggard. "To...to help her sleep."_

_**To kill her if need be...to put her to sleep eternally.**_

_"Do not even **entertain** that notion." I growl, and Mirien winces. _

_"Do you truly think this is a battle you can win, Kathyra?" Mirien asks, temper flaring beneath stress and worry. "She is barely breathing, burning with fever, riddled with infection, and filleted like a fish! Perhaps...perhaps the merciful thing to do..."_

_"That is **not** our decision." I tell her, straining to keep my voice even. " **Look** at her." I order. " **Look** at her and tell me if you would still be among the living if you endured these injuries. I know that I would have succumbed **long** ago. If someone is willing to fight **this hard** to live, then it is our duty, our **calling** , to **save** their life."_

_I turn away from a shocked Mirien and begin the slow, painful process of cutting into the deep lacerations left by a cruel whip and slicing out the metal that had hardened and adhered to her skin. Blood and pus spill over my hands and the stench is nauseating, but I do not focus on these things._

_Instead, I remember Giselle's words from long ago. That somehow I, having caused death, having invited it into my presence, am more qualified to heal. So I envision death, not as my enemy, but as someone I know well. Someone with whom I have bartered, spoken, embraced. I now begin to deal with him for this young woman's life, cajoling, pleading, working my fingers to the bone, praying to the gods of mercy...but also the gods of shadow and darkness._

_**Let her live. You did not grant me Giselle's life; you did not let me save her. Let that beautiful sacrifice not be in vain. Let me save this life. Guide my hands, let her continue breathing. Give her strength. **_

_I wash my hands for the fifth time, looking at the further mess I have made of the poor woman's back. The metal is gone, but the wounds are now open and gaping, chunks of deadened flesh missing, leaving raw, exposed muscle underneath. There was little fresh blood, however, thanks to the skill of the mage._

_The woman groans and her eyelids flutter. Bright blue, exhausted eyes flicker around the room, uncomprehending. She struggles to move, and I do not touch her, remembering my past experience. I know it will only serve to inspire more fear. She cannot be afraid. If she is afraid, she will not heal._

_"Mirien," I whisper, keeping my voice low, "I need fresh snow, as clean as possible."_

_The physician leaves and I lift my hands, fingers splayed, showing that I intend to do the woman no harm. "Keep still." I lock my eyes with hers. "You are safe now."_

_Disbelieving, she still attempts to rise and I kneel in front of her, keeping eye contact. A small whimper escapes her lips, breaking my heart. "Do not move." I plead with her. "Please, don't move. I know you are hurt; I know you are in pain, but I promise you, you will be kept safe."_

_She manages to focus her gaze, and the slightest hint of a smile quirks her lips._

_"M...jo...laine." She murmurs, and my very soul begins to bleed, for I know she has mistaken me for my sister, the woman she loves...the woman that nearly killed her._

_"Yes, love." I lie, hoping it will soothe her, sensing that she is trapped in a half-dream, where Marjolaine is not the one who betrays, but who heals. "Rest now." I risk tucking her hair behind her ears. "Rest now, you're safe."_

_Her eyes close and the tension in her body slackens as Mirien returns with a bucket of snow. I soak a cloth in water and lay it over the woman's back, biting my lip as I see her bright blood flow through the cloth. Mirien spreads a thin layer of snow across the wounds, to ease the swelling and numb the pain._

_"What now?" Mirien asks. "Her back and side were the worst, but..."_

_I wash my hands yet again and run my fingers through my hair in a despairing gesture. "We keep working. As long as she lives, we fight."_


	74. More to Healing than Blood and Bone

**Kathyra**

_The sun is setting once more by the time I look up from the battered body beneath my care. I step back and roll my shoulders, wincing as my abused muscles scream with their aches. Only now do I notice the cramping pains in my hands; my fingers ache as I flex them in attempt to restore circulation. The muscles in my back flutter and spasm with fatigue, rebelling as I lift a hand to my face to wipe away my sweat soaked hair.  
_

_I clench my jaw and dare to look at the young man, the healer mage, who has risen higher in my estimation with every passing candlemark, every frenetic moment of fear. I know in my heart what I want him to say when he slips from his trance. I know in my mind that it simply cannot be. The Nightingale's life is slipping away from this, the waking world, and into the the lands beyond._

_**There is simply too much damage done to her body. Her fingers are broken, all of her ribs are cracked or fractured, her lungs and intestines are bruised. The mage spoke of severe internal hemorrhaging. Maker's fucking breath.** I rub my temples, attempting to alleviate the pounding in my head. **They caned the soles of her feet, breaking the delicate bones. If they do not heal properly...she'll never walk again. How she managed to walk to the Chantry in that state...she is determined to live, but there is nothing more that we can do and I fear...I fear she is gone.**_

_In the haze of my exhausted vision, I see the spectre of Death standing over my patient. I look into the depths of his fathomless raven eyes and I see peace. I see peace and wonder if I have done the Nightingale any sort of favor. If I had charged into a battle that she did not want fought. I remember craving death; I remember wishing, beneath the pain of my grievous injury, that Giselle's work be undone._

_The mage clenches his hand into a fist, extinguishing the swirling blue light, summoning me back into the present. His face is drawn, eyes haunted by shadows of over-exertion and exhausted. He looks as though he has aged thirty years in the space of this fraught, blistering day. My entire body is shuddering with fatigue; I feel the edge of collapse very, very near. One step further, and I will be in oblivion. I need to know, but I fear the knowing. I watch the man, reading the language of his body, but through the bleary fog of my eyesight, I cannot translate it._

_The man's chapped lips curl upward into a youthful, tired smile and my heart bursts inward, wanting to celebrate, but still uncertain of the meaning of the smile._

_"She'll live." He rasps the words my heart desires and, despite my fears, despite my worries, I find myself returning the smile._

_I glance toward the shadows, at my hallucinatory figure of death. His eyes flare to mine, still filled with peace, but now, concession. He lifts his hand in the air, fingers splayed, folding them down one by one until only his index finger points towards the sky. I understand his meaning. Death has allowed me this victory...and this one alone. From here to eternity, every time I turn my hands to healing...it will be a war. I have earned no favor. I have triumphed over death, and in so doing, earned myself the enmity of fate._

_**Let it be.** I order myself, longing to rest my head, close my eyes, cease the struggle. **Let it be and let victory carry the day. Let life celebrate this day, this moment, this singular existence.**_

_"Mother Dorothea has arranged for you to remain here until our patient is well, ser mage." Mirien informs the young man. "Your templar guard will escort you there. Eat. Drink. Rest. It is well-earned and your help has been invaluable."_

_The exhausted man nods his understanding and departs, leaving me and Mirien along with the unconscious Nighingale who, by some twisted grace, still draws breath. My fellow physician leans against the stone table and sighs, weary and spent._

_"I came late to this." Her voice eradicates my thoughts. "You must be exhausted, Kathyra. We can assign another physician to care for her today. You should rest as well."_

_"I could not sleep if I tried." I whisper, unable to tear my eyes from the Nightingale's broken body._

_I reach out and brush my fingertips across the back of the woman's hand, tracing a small line of un-bruised skin. My heart is full in my chest, straining at the seams, breaking for the hundredth time as I gaze upon the wreck of the body we fought to repair._

_**I do not even know your name, Nightingale. All I know is that you loved my sister, and that your love spared her life. Would you have suffered, had I let that arrow fly? Would vengeance have made its full circle and seen your blade planted in my heart? We will never know now...you will never know at all. And I shall only look back and be able to question. **_

_"Do you..." Mirien's eyes widen as she scrutinizes my expression, "...you **knew** her!" She accuses, moving to stand in front of the Nightingale, as if to protect her from me. _

_"Not in the manner you are thinking." I breathe deep, attempting to make sense of my thoughts, to rationalize, to explain. "Mirien, I could have...I could have **been** her." I confess at last, to another, for the first time. "Had Giselle not saved me, the horrific state this woman is in would be my fate."_

_The expression on Mirien's face is one of horrified shock. She stares at me, eyes wide with disbelief. It softens into understanding, then fades into agreement._

_"I remember you." She murmurs. "After you first came here. Wild, like some sort of feral cat. You have...gentled, Kathra. What...what changed?"_

_"I learned what it is to be loved, and not used." I admit, stunning myself as I confess information I thought never to reveal. But here, in a room filled with the stench of blood, fear, and decay, I have triumphed over death. I need no longer keep my silence._

_Mirien gazes down at the Nightingale, her eyes softening with the purest of compassion._

_"I imagine it would take a great deal of love to look beyond these scars." She muses, feathering her fingers over the crosshatching of stitches down the woman's thigh._

_**You've no idea, Mirien, for you see only the physical scars. You did not see the evidence of rape, the bruises, the tears in that most sensitive of flesh. You do not know the nightmare of having your last fortress, your own body, taken from you by force. This woman will likely never know trust again. She will never desire another's touch, nor be able to accept it if she does heal to the point of wanting. Her dreams will be nightmares...and those who see the beauty of her unmarred face, who would believe they want more...they will flee at the revelation of the wasteland of her body. She is well and truly broken, and the last pure heart is gone from this world. **_

_"Such a love does not exist." I claim, believing it to be so, transported back to the loss of Giselle...the sole heart so pure._

_Mirien's brows rise. "How can you say such a thing!?" She hisses._

_Bitterness chokes me as I remember my loss. "Do you know of **anyone** so selfless as to indulge her, to give her the time to accept their affection? Another heart that would be willing to **wait** until this poor victim is prepared to attempt normalcy? Is there **any** hand gentle enough to touch such grievous wounds and elicit **anything** other than **agony!?** Do you know anyone so filled with peace that they could endure what will surely be a maelstrom of ever-changing, ever conflicting emotion? Such a person, man or woman, does not exist."_

_Slow, Mirien's eyes widen, and she nods. "How blessed she is, then," Mirien holds my gaze, steady, "to have you for her physician. If you have walked a similar path, and found yourself safe at its ending, surely you can help this poor, lost, injured soul find her way back to the light."_

_I feel as though all the air has been driven from my lung as I watch Mirien busy herself with cleaning. My thoughts roar through  my mind like restless ocean waves, and I tremble. I tremble for I am broken still, a healer of the body, like Mirien. I will **never** be a healer of spirit and soul. Not while my own soul and spirit are still in tatters. Not when this woman's wounds scream at me of my failures. _

_**I cannot do this,** I realize, staring at the dried blood caked beneath my fingernails. **I cannot...I am not...I do not have the clarity, the fortitude, the forgiveness, the patience...I do not have the strength! I. Am. Not. Giselle!**_

_"Find someone to care for her and get some rest, Mirien." I whisper, kissing the elder physician on the cheek before turning on my heel and doing what bards...what **I**...have always done best. _

_**I am running away.**_


	75. What I Will Never Know

**Kathyra**

_I know that I am running from...I do not know where I am running **to** as I make my way up the stairs. I pause at the top of them, looking towards the hallway that leads to my room. There is nothing for me there. Nothing but the memories of a life I am living in memory and...and failing to live. I lower my head and sigh. This fourth life is not mine. It belongs to Giselle, and she can no longer live it, and I am a fool for believing that I can do so in her stead. I know she would wish me to be happy and I cannot be that. Not here. Not where I am trapped within her identity instead of being able to use the gift she gave me to earn my freedom.   
_

_I cannot stay here. I know this now. I will leave, but there is one thing I must do first. I walk through the labyrinth of the Chantry offices, seeking one in particular. I do not even knock at the door, for I am beyond the Chantry and its pretenses, ranks, and officiates. I am done with hypocrisy, living a lie, and repairing the damages of others' misdeeds._

_Dorothea rises from behind her desk when I enter, yet another strange expression living in her eyes. It is disdain, which is directed at me, yet behind it there lies...concern. For whom? The Nightingale?_

_**Why? Why would Dorothea care for a woman she does not know?**_

_"Kathyra...is...is she..." Dorothea's voice cracks, worlds away from the woman of ice and propriety that I loathe._

_"The mage says she will live." I answer, closing the door and leaning against it, shoring myself up as my legs begin to tremor with exhaustion._

_Dorothea sighs in relief and sinks down, sagging into her chair, running her hands through her tight, tied-back hair, disheveling it. The fact that it is the middle of the day and the prim, severe Revered Mother is feckless about her appearance is...troubling. I want to know the secrets that lie here. I **deserve** to know them. _

_"Why does she concern you?" I ask, summoning my strength and walking towards the desk, deciding to play the bard, to take advantage of Dorothea's momentary weakness. "Who is she? And what in **hell** happened to her? I know torture, Dorothea, and she was tortured by a **sadist**."_

_Dorothea's face falls. "I happened to her." She admits. "And, by proxy, I tortured her. For all my rank and station, Kathyra...I do attempt...I do attempt the charity to which this organization ascribes. But members of the Chantry..." She sighs and leans back in her chair, lacing her fingers and placing them protectively over her abdomen, "...oft times we go unnoticed. Like the elves." A bitter, whispery laugh escapes her lips._

_I cross my arms, balance my weight on one leg, and wait for further explanation._

_"But the **things** one hears, in such a position." Dorothea is speaking to herself now, her tone seeking justification, absolution for her crimes from her own mind. "And the things one **tires** of." She murmurs. "Poverty. Chastity. The vows you swore are **not** easy to reconcile yourself to." She addresses me. "Oh, they are, in the height of impetuous youth and altruistic aspirations. But age welcomes...and deserves...luxury."_

_**Think that all you wish, Dorothea. Age deserves nothing. Youth deserves nothing. We deserve nothing more than what we earn, and, as Giselle's life is proof...at times we do not even receive that. **_

_Dorothea's eyes flit to mine and her lips purse in a tight line. I wait for the sneer, the smirk, the rampant dislike to enter her expression. It does not. Instead, she rolls back her sleeve and exposes the satin burn-scars that cover her arm._

_"You cleansed me with fire." Dorothea whispers, regret in her voice. "And Giselle showed me a kindness I never gave her. She healed me and I had done nothing to deserve that gift. The proud want to possess, Kathyra...and I am a proud woman. A proud woman who...who forgot the lessons those I considered lesser than myself attempted to teach me. And now...now the innocent have suffered."_

_**They suffered at your hand long before the Nightingale stumbled in these doors on the threshold of death. Are you just now realizing this, Mother Dorothea? Are you just now recognizing the consequence of your actions?**_

_I clench my fists, letting my nails bite into my palms, letting the pain of it center me so that I do not speak words of anger and recrimination and seal Dorothea's confessions away forever. This is a secret that I must know. This is a moment I must see to the end, because my intuition is screaming in a voice like blown glass that I must hear this, and respond. Only then...only after that...can I leave and forge ahead._

_"What happened, Dorothea?" I question, wanting... **needing** to know. _

_"I forgot." She explains. "I forgot those lessons willingly. And when the proper secrets entered my hands...a general's offhand comment at a grand ball, I could not resist. I sold the information to a...a very powerful woman."_

_"Treason." I hiss, though I have been guilty of the same crime, multiple times. "You committed treason."_

_Dorothea nods. "Against Empress Celene and the Maker." She hangs her head. "The woman I sold this to, the...the..."_

_"The bard." I supply, glowering at the woman._

_"Yes." Dorothea sighs, her last pretense at self-preservation shattered. "Her reputation is impeccable. I thought no harm would be done and then...somehow...the treason was discovered, but **she** was not the one arrested, not the one named guilty, not the one..." Dorothea's lips tremble, and her eyes fill with tears. "...not the one they tortured."_

_"One sins and all suffer." I feel drained of all energy and lean against Dorothea's desk, too tired to feel anything, be it grief for Marjolaine's once-lover, hatred of my sister, or fury at Dorothea's ignorant pride._

_My heart is weary and my breath aches in my lungs. I do not know where to go from here. Mirien's words are burning in my ears, but I know I cannot be here when the Nightingale wakes. I have nothing to offer her. I have nothing to offer anyone, not as I am. My hands are skilled, but my heart is not in this work. My spirit is not in this life, but the one beyond, and I do not know if I shall ever get it back._

_"Have I sinned, Kathyra?" Dorothea asks, sounding like a lost child, in spite of her lined skin and silver hair._

_"Yes." I answer, wondering how deluded she must be to even ask such a thing._

_"Can I...can I ever be forgiven?" She wonders, looking to the tapestry hanging over the fireplace, the guiding star of the Chantry embroidered upon it, a guiding light that Dorothea has not followed._

_"I will **never** forgive you, Dorothea." I tell her, thinking of Giselle, her straightforward, honest, outspoken strength. "Not for the manner in which you treated Giselle, not for the way you have treated me and countless others. As for that woman, should she defy death...you can ask for her forgiveness."_

_"But I helped her!" Dorothea argues, too lost in high places to see the world as it is, to see the horrors of existence. "I aided her escape; I am sheltering a wanted criminal! Surely that is enough to warrant forgiveness."_

_"Do you so easily forget that they tortured a woman **innocent** of the crimes she was charged with?" I counter, attempting to persuade Dorothea, to help her **see**. "Because she will not forget that, no matter your help. And, if she wakes, and you tell her only of your aid, then, yes, she will love you. Admire you. But that affection and admiration will be a lie, undeserved. Perhaps one such as you can console your conscience with that; persuade your mind that it is the forgiveness that you seek. But your own heart will know your crimes, and gnaw at your soul when, in the dark of night, you think of her every ruptured vein, every fractured bone, every agonizing laceration...and realize that these wounds should be stamped on **your** skin."_

_"What can I do?" Dorothea entreats, spreading her hands atop her desk. "What can I do, Kathyra? I have...I have **never** asked forgiveness."_

_"Words are easily given." I answer, remembering Giselle, as I always have...and ever will. "Give this woman something more substantial. Sustain her while she is weak and injured. Feed her. Clothe her. Bind her wounds with your own hands, tend her injuries with caring and kindness. Listen to her tears and wake with her when the nightmares come. When she can bear it, tell her of your crimes, so that she will understand the full measure of what befell her. Then, give her back her life, and send her somewhere far from Val Royeaux, where she will never suffer punishment for her innocence."_

_"Where could one outrun the gaze of Val Royeaux?" Dorothea asks, completely lost in confusion and guilt._

_I close my eyes and struggle to think of a place so foreign, so remote, so insignificant that Marjolaine will never venture there, nor think to send those who serve her, nor believe her Nightingale would flee._

_"Ferelden." I offer, and, as I predicted, Dorothea's face pales at the notion._

_"That barbaric place?" She asks. "Why beneath the Maker's gaze would I..."_

_"Where else would a traitor to Orlais find welcome?" I question in return. "At least suggest it, because, if she remains here, under your sanctuary or not, she will surely die...either at the hand of the empress or the hand of the bard who framed her. If you want to save her life, Dorothea, you will do more than heal her wounds."_

_"The healing of the body is your position, Kathyra." Dorothea reminds me, a hint of her ubiquitous spite intruding._

_"Then I disrespectfully resign from it." I feel a weight peel from my shoulders and fall to the ground below. "I have been offered a position elsewhere and I intend to claim it. With or without your blessing, for I already possess the invitation of her Holiness the Divine."_

_Dorothea's brows pinch together and her frown deepens. "Beatrix told me of her offer to you. I did not think you would accept it."_

_"Such things change." I turn on my heel and open the door, waiting for Dorothea's parting, piercing barb._

_Instead, it is a question. Soft, almost vulnerable. "Have you...have you ever sinned, Kathyra?"_

_I lean my head against the door, hating that I have learned honesty, loathing that I adhere to it still. "I have, Dorothea. My sins cost me the life of the one I love."_

_"Will..."_

_"No." I sigh. "In this life, and the next, I will never know forgiveness.  
_

* * *

     _I will never know forgiveness..._

     The words echoed through my mind as I turned to see Leliana. She rested against the cabin wall, her eyes closed as she attempted to rest, to regain what little strength she could before the next battle. She looked so calm, so at peace, and my spirit cried out in anguish. Tears filled my eyes and spilled down my fevered cheeks.

     _Leliana...you forgave me for being the sister of your betrayer. You forgave me for my part in Beatrix's plan to wrest you from your life and your love. But could you forgive me for the crime of abandoning you as I did? Of knowing your suffering so intimately and still running away?_

     For the thousandth time, I remembered that night in Highever. I looked at Leliana's face, recalling the light in her eyes as she gazed upon the famed Grey Warden. And I remembered the warden's expression...the reason I interceded with Cassandra and kept the Right Hand from rash action. The light in those chilling, scarred blue eyes was more than I could bear for, in a single moment, it undid the lies I had told myself in the years since Giselle's death.

     Salem's eyes revealed to me, in that moment, the devastating nature of love...the depth of the human heart. For I knew, in that exquisite second of eternity, that Leliana, her scars, her past, her sins...all of them were accepted and cherished. And I feared...I feared that knowledge. For if someone so damaged, so broken, could find that measure of love given to them...perhaps someone such as I...

     _No._ I controlled my thoughts and closed my eyes, refusing to think of it. _No. I ran away. I no longer deserve such things...and must not want them._


	76. The Short Walk into Eternity

**Kathyra**

     I remained awake, listening to the sounds of the sea, thinking about the sun rising over the ocean. How the light on the water would appear much the color of Leliana's eyes. Pain clenched in my chest and I winced, too weak to lift my hand to brush away the sweat dripping into my eyes. I closed them again, to no avail. Sleep would not come...memories would no longer visit me. I knew the rest of the story, to this very point. That story was now at an end. 

     _Let me cherish it while I may._

     The boards creaked beside me and I turned my head, looking into eyes the color of the water surrounding us, as deep and peaceful and beautiful. But they were shrouded with the shadows of exhaustion. Her skin had lost all color and the cup she held in her hands trembled. My vision blurred in and out, and I tried to focus on her, believing that this was surely the last time I would gaze on her beauty.

     "You...look...so tired."

     "I am quite well." She assured me, holding out the cup she held. "Drink."

     I could smell the fragrance of the tea, and I narrowed my eyes, wondering what she had slipped into it. My next sleep would be eternal, and I did not wish to be urged there. I wanted to fall, as I had fallen in love. Slowly, aware of every movement, every moment, ever perfection. Leliana smiled at my obvious suspicion.

     "It's willow bark for your fever." She informed me. "Nothing more, I swear it."

     _It does not matter now, Leliana. It is done. There is no point in treating the dead._

     Still, I let her lift my head from the pillow, savoring the warmth, wishing I could erase the exhausted trembling of her hand. She lifted the cup to my lips and I drank in careful, measured sips, wincing at the bitter taste of willow bark. When I finished enough to satisfy her, Leliana lowered me back to the pillow and tucked my hair behind my ear in an unconsciously intimate gesture.

     "You are...so kind." I whispered, struggling to breathe. My lungs sounded as though they were filled with dead leaves. I coughed, feeling each burst grow weaker and weaker. "Thank you...Leliana."

     "Think nothing of it." Leliana soaked a cloth in a nearby bucket of water, wrung out the excess, and wiped the sweat from my brow and beneath my eyes, alleviating the sting of salt. "How are you feeling? Are you in very much pain?"

     I took stock of myself, attempting to feel the piece of the mast embedded in my side, to feel anything sharp or discomforting. Instead, I recognized only the pleasant lassitude of a body no longer fighting to live. Every part of me knew that my time had come.

     "I am...beyond pain...now." I grinned. Leliana looked away, but I did not want this time to end just yet. I wanted to cherish these small moments, a final indulgence of hope, before we returned to the shores of Leliana's homeland. "I...I'm afraid to sleep. Seems...harder...harder to open my eyes." I glanced over toward the two templar privates, smiling as I saw Rylie securely cradled in Kestrel's arms...safe. Cared for. Loved. "How," I licked my chapped lips, "is she?"

     "Very weak." Leliana looked at me, her expression holding something akin to...awe. "Her breathing is too shallow, her heart rate too fast, and her temperature higher than I would like, but I believe, if we make port in time and find a healer, she will make a full recovery."

     "Good." I breathed, grateful that at least one of the injured would survive this ill-fated journey. "I...I do not think...I shall be so blessed."

     "Nonsense." Leliana quipped, but with less ferocity than before, and she threaded her fingers through my own, instilling a surety with her touch that I had not felt since...since Giselle. "You will be fine."

     Her belief, somehow, struck me with a morbid sense of humor, and what little breath I had was stolen with laughter. The air caught in my throat and I began coughing, hard and harsh and painful. Needles drove into my lungs as Leliana lifted me by the shoulders, making it somewhat easier to breathe, but causing the spike in my side to press deeper. I gasped in pain and felt the stickiness of blood drip down my chin as the spasm eased. I struggled to breathe as Leliana eased me back down.

     "You're all right." Her tone was soothing, comforting me as she cleaned the blood from my lips. "I've got you."

     "S...sorry." I apologized, hating that I inconvenienced her, knowing that she persisted and forced herself beyond exhaustion for my sake.

     "Shhhh." Leliana cooled my brow again. "No need to apologize."

     _You are so beautiful..._

     I wanted to reach up, to touch what was not mine, to ask for what she could not give. Here, in this moment, she provided comfort for the dying. It would be no sin, no crime against the one who held her heart. And yet...I could not force myself to move. I could not make myself...because I had sinned against her, and would not do so again.

     _I left her to suffer, to question, and to hurt. I might have stayed, guided her from the life that Marjolaine's treachery left in tatters. I could have attempted to be for her what Giselle was for me. I could have trusted fate and life and the Maker, but no...I fled._

     Tears filled my eyes and I shuddered from the weight of grief and the hopelessness of desire.

     Leliana's eyes flared with worry. I shook my head, not desiring her to worry. "It's h...hard to breathe." I tried to explain, shifting, wincing, biting my lip at the brief flare of pain. "Might I...ask a favor of you?"

     "Of course." Leliana said, the words coming to her with ease, as though she had surpassed the place in a bard's mind where suspicion, not belief, was the norm.

     I swallowed the lump in my throat and steadied myself, knowing that I asked a more selfish question now than ever I had before. "Will...will you cry for me, Leliana?" I whispered. "I...I have no friends. No family. No one...who...loves me. I...I do not want...to have meant nothing...when I die. Please." I lifted my hand and grasped her shirt, feeling the need to connect with her, but unworthy of touching her skin with my own. "Let my life..." I begged, desperate, "...have...some meaning."

     "Hush now." She urged, removing my hand from her shirt and holding it close. "Kathyra, you are beautiful, you are kind, and you are worthy of love."

     _I'm **not!** I **abandoned** you, Leliana! _

     She continued. "You have made this madness, this separation, bearable. You have saved my life many times over."

     _You do not remember, do you? The first time I saved your life. I should have remained. I should have helped you._

     "And, yes," She whispered, her eyes lining with glittering tears, "I will grieve when you die." She leaned down and pressed her lips to my forehead, imparting her faith and her trust. "But that will not be this day."

     My eyes closed, leaving my own tears in their wake. "Thank...you." I breathed, opening my eyes and smiling at her in endless gratitude. "My...sister...was such a fool."

     "Marjolaine did not know me as you do." She spoke, gentle. "And I am grateful that you do not know me as she did. Rest now, Kathyra. The sun will soon rise, and the captain is optimistic about our arrival in Amaranthine at midday. Be strong a little while longer."

     _You will arrive, Leliana. By midday, I will have gone on to either my reward or punishment._

     Still, I did not wish to speak my thoughts, to be defeatist in the face of her radiant faith. I needed to give her some measure of the hope she embodied. I needed her to believe that I trusted her. She deserved that from me. She deserved a friend who did not run, who did not flee like a coward.

     "Will...will you be here...when I wake?" My words slurred with exhaustion and pain.

     "I promise." She smiled with all the splendor of morning.

     The door opened and heavy, beleaguered footsteps entered the room. The templar sergeant...Alan...spoke, his voice gruff and tinged with worry. "Captain Cousland, you're needed in the hold."

     Leliana nodded. "Kathyra," She squeezed my hand, "I've been called away. I will return as soon as I can." She looked to the sergeant. "Stay with her, please."

     "Of course." Alan answered.

     We watched Leliana depart and Alan heaved a sigh. "There goes the like of a woman..." He cleared his throat, "...suffice to say we will not see such another for five ages, if even then."

     He sat down and hung his head, looking away, closing his eyes. Without his gaze, I was as alone as I could be. There seemed no better moment to give in, to surrender without Leliana there, and with the others asleep or distracted. It would be easier for them if they did not have to watch me die. I had caused enough pain for an age in the simple span of my lifetime. I did not wish to cause more.

     I closed my eyes at last, begging to dream, begging for rest, a single, final prayer on my lips.

     _Please, dear Maker, great Creators, and dear Goddess of mercy and healing...let me rest. Let me be free._

_Let me wake to love again._


	77. Two Steps from Heaven

**Kathyra**

_I open the door and step across the threshold, wary. I examine the space, looking for evidence of soot, ash, and damage by fire. There is nothing, no remembrance of the blaze I set so many years ago. I demand that I recall this as a memory; to believe that I have returned her at some point in my past, to this place Giselle and I called home...I know it is not true. Cannot be true. I did not return here in my life. I salted this earth.  
_

_I move into the main room of the clinic, tears filling my eyes as I see the shelves fully stocked, various vials and bundles labeled in Giselle's careful handwriting. The familiar fire crackles in the hearth and the ever present smell of herbs brings back memories of the sweet, lovely years we spent together._

_**Why am I here?**_ _I wonder. **I left the Chantry and went to the Holy Palace. I let Beatrix anoint me with holy oil. I took the name of Seeker and I did not look back. I never returned to my home; I never again visited the single tree beside the ocean where first I kissed her. I let that life remain dead and buried beside her...why then...why then am I here?**_

_"No." I hear a voice that burns in my ears and sets my heart racing. "No, this is not right. Not yet, not now, oh, please, not now."_

_I turn to the stairwell and fall to my knees. Giselle stands there, haloed by the light streaming in from the window. Her golden hair is swept back, glittering, revealing the delicate points of her ears. I lose myself in her eyes, that unreal, unholy shade of green, the color of new life, the color of all things beautiful and precious to me. I want to rise, to run to her, but I am held captive by her mere presence...a ghost of memories locked away and rarely visited. Their beauty and their pain is secret and sacred to me._

_"G..." My voice is scratchy and my cheeks are drenched. "Giselle. Please...please tell me that this is not a dream."_

_"It damn well isn't, though how I wish it were." Giselle speaks in the form I have so longed for, so missed. Brusque, to the point of chilling, antonymic to her warm, caring nature._

_She crosses to me, moving with the eerie, elven grace that captured me from the first. She extends her delicate, powerful, healing hand and I tremble as I reach up and take it, feeling the warmth of her skin infuse me as she draws me to my feet. I do not care that her words confuse me; I do not care that her eyes are bewildered._

_"I'm sorry." I whisper the words I have longed to tell her, for so many years, words of regret, an ineloquent outpouring of my heart. "Giselle, I am so...so sorry."_

_**It should have been me. You should never have perished. I would give my life to have you back; I would sell my very soul into darkness. Forgive me, Giselle. Please, forgive me.**_

_"No need, my darling." Giselle pulls away from my embrace, her eyes shining. "I knew. I knew the moment they asked for you. I was prepared, and willing."_

_"Why?" I ask the question I have tormented myself with since her passing. "Why would you do that...for me? Why would you give your very life!?"_

_There is pain in my chest and my heart beats in an irregular, staccato rhythm. I wait for the answer, the answer I have never been able to accept, to give myself. In some, secret part of me, I do not feel I deserve her forgiveness...and yet I crave it with every fiber of my being._

_Giselle reaches up and rests her hand against my cheek, her hand brushing away my tears with a gentle, sparking caress. "Stop hiding from the truth, trickster." She reads my thoughts, as ever she has been able to do. "I love you. I wanted you to live. This world needs...this world needs you. More than it ever needed me."_

_"Do not say that." I demand, hurt by her words, even as they ease the ache in my spirit and soul, proving that she faced death with no regrets, that she had given herself; that she let her blood be spilled to cover me, cloak m, and keep me hidden from my enemies. To redeem me. "You cannot know...you cannot believe..."_

_"I knew what I felt at that very moment." Giselle says, stern. "I damn well know my own mind, Kathyra. I knew it when I brought you into the Chantry half-dead, I knew it when I wanted you to love me. I knew it when I gave you my innocence and my body. And I knew it when that knife crossed my throat. You should not be here, in the realm of the dead, and of this we are both bitterly aware."_

_"No!" I shout. "That world holds nothing for me! I **want** to be here! I **want** to be with **you!** Damn me eternally, Giselle, I fucking **miss** you! Every bloody day is agonizing! Every breath I draw should not **exist!** "_

_"You want to run away, **again!** " She shouts, her eyes lighting with fire. "There is something on the mortal side of eternity that is plaguing you, tormenting you, and death is **nothing** if not the ultimate escape! Tell me, Kathyra. **Tell** me why you are so afraid...so afraid that the woman I know, who fights to survive above all else, is begging for death."_

_I remain silent, unable to confess, unable to betray her heart in her presence._

_"Tell me!" She orders, and I wilt beneath the power of her gaze._

_"There is..." My breath sticks in my throat, "...there is...another. And my heart...it feels for her so similarly what it feels for you. What it should feel for you **alone**. I do not want...I do not want to love her. She belongs to another, and I have wronged her so deeply, Giselle. Please, do not make me face that. Do not make me face a life of love unrequited."_

_The fire in Giselle's eyes deepens and smolders to a warm comfort, no longer a blaze capable of burning me alive. She presses her hand over my heart, as she did when she died. I feel the warmth and wet, and look down at the bloodied palm print spreading across my chest._

_"Beautiful heart." Giselle whispers, and my knees go weak. "It is healing at last. Do not fear this, Kathyra. Do not run from this...and do not die from it. Please, my darling, please. It is not yet your time."_

_"You cannot know that!" I plead with her, feeling fear close in on me as my heart kicks erratically against my ribs. "Do you...do you no longer want me, Giselle?"_

_"What?" Her eyes widen and her lips tremble. "No! No, Kathyra! Not that...you are...you are my **love** , first and last, eternal. I want nothing more than to welcome you into forever, to hold you in my arms and revel in your presence but...but it is not **time** , dearest trickster. See," She rests her hand against my heart once more, letting me feel it beat against her hand, "you **want** to live. Your body is **fighting** , Kathyra. **You** are fighting."_

_"I do not want to fight any longer." I confess. "I want this. I want **you**. I never want to love another, even with your blessing...I do not want...I do not want to betray you."_

_"You have not." She assures me, in that concrete tone that **forces** me to believe. "And you **will** not. I know you, Kathyra, better than you know yourself. And what you cannot accept of yourself are the very things I adore. Your gentility, your honor, your will to live. There are stories yet unwritten, Kathyra...and you must be present for them. This world needs **you**."_

_Giselle takes me by the hand and leads me to the door, unwilling, disbelieving, but knowing that her faith gave me life. Knowing that, through her hope, I survive. Knowing that she does speak true, that she knows me better than I myself do. She stands at the door, takes my head between her hands, and stares deep, through my eyes, into my soul._

_"Someone must still sing for the lonely heart, Kathyra." Giselle whispers. "Please, let it be you. Your voice is so beautiful, so necessary, so **vital**. You do not even know...you do not even know the wounds you are capable of healing."_

_Unable to resist, I lean down and press my lips against hers, weeping as I taste lemon and honey, as the scent of herbs suffuses me. Fire pours through my veins from her touch, passion courses through me, and this kiss his forgiveness, this kiss is loveliness...this kiss is good-bye._

_Giselle pulls away, brushing tears from her eyes. "We **will** meet again, my darling." She promises. "When it is time. I love you, trickster."_

_I open my mouth, but she presses her fingers to my lips. "I know." She says, and I believe her. "Now go. Live. Sing. For me."_

_She opens the door and I step through it, looking back at her, knowing that I cannot deny her wishes, nor throw away her gift. That I cannot run away...not even to run into her arms. I lift my hand in farewell and Giselle closes her eyes, letting two perfect, radiant tears fall. She reaches up and rests her hand over my heart again, applying light pressure, making my ribs ache. The ache deepens as I depart from eternity and return to mortality, having been pushed from heaven by the same hands that lifted me out of hell._

_I forgive her...I honor her...I love her..._

* * *

     "Come back!" The order rang through the room, harsh, in an Orlesian accent. "Damn it, Kathyra, _breathe_!"

     Leliana's hands were over my chest, pushing in the rhythm of my heartbeat. Her eyes were wild and fierce, a lightning-blue that drove blood through my veins. My side was aflame, breath burned in my lungs, and I coughed, harsh and explosive, spattering Leliana's cheek with my blood.

     Her eyes ignited and her smile lit the room, making my heart ache for an entirely different reason than the pain of it having cease and begin beating again. She lifted my head and eased another folded blanket beneath it, making my breath come easier. She held a cup of water to my lips and helped me rinse the blood from my mouth.

     "Thank the Maker." She breathed, resting her forehead against mine.

     Hot, salty tears from her eyes bathed my cheeks and I realized that her body was shaking. "Thank you." She whispered, for my hearing alone. "Thank you for coming back."

     "Was it...a choice?" I wondered.

     _Of course it was, trickster,_ Giselle's voice whispered through my thoughts. _You want to live. You deserve to live. So please, keep living. For me. Keep loving. For me._

     "I will." I promised as my eyes closed in a slumber that would be dreamless and healing. "I will."


End file.
